Here And Gone Again
by Kasia
Summary: A coping mechanism only gets Grissom so far. (GS)
1. Prologue

  
  
Author's Note: I'm pretty reliable with new chapters, and a write-aholic to boot, so the completed story shouldn't take long. The rating is really for suggested actions more than anything; language won't get too heavy either.  
  
- - - - - - - - - 

"I'll make a deal with you." The sultry whisper was so close to his ear.

"What kind of deal?"

"One we'll both benefit from." So warm and sweet.

"Well, make it quick." He pretended to be annoyed. "I've got the Everest of paperwork piles waiting on my desk."

She laughed, low and loving. "That's my husband. Still in bed and already thinking about work."

"Great minds," he shrugged.

A hand slipped under the covers, fingertips running across his collarbone. "We do more than _think_ alike," she murmured, inching closer.

"Mmmm," was all he could manage, leaning in to kiss those smiling lips.

"But you're right." She pulled back, just barely, her tone still teasing. "We need to get going. All that paperwork, all those calls to return. Busy, busy."

He reached for her hand as she rose up from the bed. "I do believe there was a deal on the table."

Her eyes were sparkling now. "Oh, so there's more to Mr. Grissom than work after all, huh?"

"Who knew?" His grin grew as she sat down, shifting their grip to let her fingers entwine with his own. "So what have you got?"

She pressed her lips to his and he responded enthusiastically. After a long moment she stopped, keeping their mouths close. "You're a genius. It should be obvious."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pecked him on the lips once more before standing back up. "I saw the files on your desk yesterday. You weren't kidding."

He sighed. "That and the last five minutes make a very good argument for early retirement."

She stopped her trek to the door and gasped. "What a horrible thing to say! You know 'quit' isn't in my vocabulary." She pursed her lips to stifle another smile. "Great minds, remember?"

"I won't make the mistake again."

"See that you don't." She winked. "I'll drive Maya instead, okay? That'll give you more time to tackle Everest before case assignments."

"I still say bed sounds a helluva lot more—" The alarm went off beside him, interrupting his suggestive comment.

Standing in the doorway, she wrinkled her nose. "And grab another alarm clock on your way home, okay? That thing shrieks like a banshee. It's driving me crazy."

He stopped the noise with a slap of the snooze alarm. "Sure."

She opened the door and headed down the hallway. "I'll see you at work. Love you!"

Before he could reply, the alarm went off again. Damned thing. He reached over and hit the Off button, only to have the volume go up. His ears were beginning to ring.

With a jerk, Grissom opened his eyes and shut off the alarm without thinking. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he looked over. The other half of the bed was empty, the comforter as smooth as the night before.

Another dream. Grissom sighed as he got up. Just what he needed, another habit.


	2. Still Here

Grissom sat at his desk, glaring at the ever-present pile of paperwork and files. He hated passing fieldwork up to grapple with administrative tasks, but he'd learned something early on as supervisor: the Topple Rule. If the ignored work on his desk was teetering or threatening to topple to the floor, it was time to have an in-office day.

"Trying to make them disappear?"

He looked up to Sara standing in the doorway, her smile and stance so similar to the one in his dream.

"Your mind's good, but not that good."

He frowned at the pile once again. "Don't be too sure. I'm feeling pretty determined."

She tilted her head and let her eyes scan his face openly. Instead of commenting on whatever it was she saw, she just smiled and asked, "You coming?"

"Did you need something?"

"It's start of shift, Gris. You're late with our assignments, and judging by Catherine's face, it seemed better for her career and your health if I came to grab you instead."

He nodded, grabbing the case assignments purposefully. Another day, another murder. Pushing the thought aside, he started to lighten the mood with a Mama Bear crack about Catherine, only to realize the doorway was empty. The fact bothered him. It happened every few weeks, the realization that he wasn't always in tune with her presence.

_I haven't seen you in awhile, have I?_

_You see me every day._

Nearing the break room, Grissom heard laughing and chatter. He hadn't felt as close to any of them lately. It was mostly Sara, he knew, but thinking back over the last few months, he realized that he had been distancing himself from the whole group. Cases. Meetings. Paperwork. There was always a reason. He wasn't even sure when they'd last had breakfast, the whole team, at the end of a busy shift.

"Go long!"

Grissom looked up in time to sidestep an airborne football. He peered knowingly at Nick over his glasses.

"Sorry, Grissom." He ducked out into the hall, grabbing the ball as it bounced off the wall and hit a couple of interns. Warrick and Sara snickered. He shifted his gaze to them and they silenced, but smiles still tugged at their lips. "This is a crime lab, not recess."

Catherine just rolled her eyes. "You're the one 12 minutes late."

"And we all know how the boys get," Sara added with a grin.

Grissom didn't bother to reply, just walked to the front of the table and dropped his handful of pertinent files. "Then by all means, let me keep you busy." He passed out assignments, pairing Catherine and Sara, giving Warrick his first solo DB, and keeping Nick for a burglary in the suburbs.

Nick started to argue, but Grissom just help up a hand. "Consider it detention. No more ball during school hours."

- - - - - - - - -

The burglary had been more straight forward than expected. Nick was wrapping up some details but there wasn't much else left, so Grissom retreated to his office with little enthusiasm.

File after file, notation after notation. His signatures were beginning to blur together in his mind. Someone could slip in a contract marrying him to Eckley and he wouldn't notice.

"Sorry to interrupt the fun."

He raised an eyebrow, again ignoring the image of her standing in a different doorway – when did she start using entrances to distance them? – and said dryly, "You should knock when the door's shut."

"I did. Twice."

So much for the authoritative edge. And now she was eyeing him with that same look. He suppressed a sigh. "What do you need, Sara?"

"It's the Connors case. From last week? I want to question the husband again and Brass is busy."

He kept any of a dozen thoughts to himself, instead just nodding. "Okay. Meet me outside in five." He gestured at the desk. "I'll need to tunnel myself out."

Sara was used to five minutes becoming ten, sometime even fifteen or twenty. She was the only team member that didn't mind much; 'work captivation' was something she understood a little too well. So when a chat with Greg stretched out to eight minutes, she didn't think anything of it until she walked outside and found Grissom waiting at the car, adjusting his kit in the back seat.

"Sorry. Were you waiting long?"

"Figured it was payback for every time I kept you waiting."

"Yeah, I'm evil like that. Even keep a roster in my locker so I know who to punish for what." She glanced at the open car door. "We've been over that house twice already. You really think we'll find anything new?"

"Just ensuring that I can keep up with you." Paired with the smile he was flashing her, it was the closest to a flirtatious comment she'd noticed lately.

The car ride went well. They mostly reviewed the case, and at the top of the list of things Grissom didn't say was how proud he was of her for bringing a man along. Mr. Connors had a problem with strong women, but he wasn't the culprit and they needed him to find the real killer. Humoring prejudices like that revolted Sara as much as it did Grissom, but she was thinking of the victim, not herself. Grissom didn't say anything because he was certain it would come off as patronizing. He had that problem a lot around her. The words were right, but they never sounded the way he meant them to.

"You've seemed off lately." Her words were too casual. "Anything up?"

Grissom instinctively clamped his mouth shut. Apparently he'd been distracted enough for her to broach a personal topic. He needed a good answer to stop the questions, but it didn't feel okay lying. "Sleep. My pattern's been off lately."

"_What_ sleep pattern?" she joked.

"So says the chronic insomniac."

"True, unfortunately."

"Just another thing we'll always have in common." They were at the house and she was already pulling the key from the ignition. Like every other memorable comment from either of them, it had been off-hand and without follow-up.

- - - - - - - - -

At the end of shift, Grissom returned to his office just long enough to glare at the paperwork and decide that the appeal of going home was too powerful. In the hallway he heard Warrick making jokes and Nick and Catherine laughing appreciatively. The absence of Sara was almost palpable to him. She had been quiet after their interview with Mr. Connors. He had been as brutish as ever and she had kept her temper at bay for the victim's sake.

He passed the happy group, reminding them of the monthly staff meeting next week, and headed out. He was so distracted with annoyed thoughts of his overflowing desk he nearly missed Sara.

She was sitting in her car, windows rolled down, looking for something in the back while rock music pulsed through the air. Her head was bobbing in sync with the tune, a bit emphatically.

At one time, it would've been so easy to just walk over. To tap on her window and joke about her music selection. To invite her to a meal. Now, nothing was easy. They were both responsible for that, he knew. But here she was, staying calm, grappling with new problems, attempting to have a life. Moving on.

Apparently he was the only one willing to drown in the complications.

- - - - - - - - -

Him and Sara were on his sofa. He sat. She reclined with her head in his lap. They both read, the turning pages the only noise in the room. Sometimes she would reach for his hand, and their fingers would tangle and untangle at a lazy pace. She was safe. He was happy.

Grissom woke up after three hours of sleep. He debated staying in bed, trying to doze off, but thought better of it. Instead, he got the new scientific journal from the pile of mail on his kitchen table, chose a mellow classical CD to play, and reclined on the sofa.


	3. Busy Being Blindsided

When it starts affecting your work, it's a problem.

This was Grissom's theory, and practically his mantra, as he drove into work an hour early. Even Sara wouldn't be in this early; he knew this because he had finally set his foot down about her spending every waking moment in the lab.

To show that he was fine, Grissom had decided to counteract yesterday's tardiness with an early appearance. He chose to ignore the implications of his work being affected in an effort to show his work _wasn't_ being affected.

After beginning to organize the mess on his desk and realizing just how little he relished the upcoming day, Grissom dug out the day's case assignments and went to the break room to wait for the others, a stack of files tucked under his arm for reading in the meantime. Although the day shift was still mulling about, they knew from bitter experience that Gruesome Grissom coming in this early usually meant a foul temper, and wisely stayed clear of the break room.

As the minutes ticked by, Grissom quickly regretted not bringing the newspaper's crossword along as well. Unwilling to go back to his "sign here" duties so quickly, he instead leaned back in his chair, glancing around the room and tapping his pen idly. His eyes scanned the windows, the cupboards, the tables, and eventually came to rest on the chair to his right. The pen stopped tapping.

One of his first dreams had taken place here. The images were as sharp as memories.

Walking by on his way to Greg and wondering why Sara was sitting alone.

Coming back and seeing her still sitting, one hand holding the cellphone to her ear, the other covering her beaming smile.

Sitting down for the staff meeting and peeking at the list she was making, unaware of anything around her. _Mary, Christopher, Jesse, Bridget, Maya._

Hearing her subtle way of telling Catherine and the guys. "We have to move the date up. Call it vanity all you want; I'm not gonna be a blimp in our wedding photos."

Grissom looked back to the crossword, hoping to distract himself. The dreams weren't in any chronological order, and he had convinced himself that this was a good sign. But thinking about them seemed to nullify that point. Just ignore it, he thought. It'll pass.

- - - - - - - - -

"The _entire_ shift?" Nick asked with suspicion.

"It's either that or I don't get around to approving your requests for time off next month." Everyone but Sara groaned. "It's necessary stuff. I wouldn't be taking the day otherwise."

"_That_ we know," Warrick snarked.

Grissom ignored him. "It's been a busy night, so you're all going solo. Call each other up for help; call me only for emergencies. Greg's not an option; he's swamped in the lab, so he stays put. Any questions?"

He passed out assignment slips and responded to Sara's smile with one of his own when she read up on her case.

"What's so special about yours?" Nick demanded.

"The crime scene's a warehouse," she beamed, gathering her things. "I love dusting those. Do you know how many prints I'll get off the shelves alone?" She walked out.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "You ever think she's a little too perfect for this place?"

"Someone needs to give Grissom a run for his money," Warrick pointed out. Grissom looked over but said nothing. "No offense man, but there's only one other person here that'd be psyched at the prospect of a few thousand prints."

- - - - - - - - -

Kneeling down and balancing herself with the back of her feet, Sara continued dusting the metal elevator door. Signs of struggle were all in this area and she was sure that someone had fallen at some point. One of the few things to brace against in the barren warehouse was the elevator.

Her cellphone chirped in her back pocket and she put her brush aside reluctantly to answer. "Sara."

"It's Catherine. How's the warehouse coming along?"

"Fine. I won't be done anytime soon, though. Did you need a hand?"

"Actually, I'm on my way back to the lab. Did you want me to stop by and pick up anything for processing?"

Sara turned and considered the growing pile of bags and envelopes behind her. "No. I'm on the other side of town. This can all make the trip with me. Thanks, though."

"No problem. With Greg so busy, I'll be there for a while. Call if you need anything."

"Yeah. Bye." Sara tucked the phone back into her pants and reached for her brush. She wanted to get more done before the officer out front came in again. She had tried to be patient because he was a rookie and very eager to help, but she humored interruptions about as well as Grissom.

A shadow covered her outstretched hand. Sara sighed. "Look, officer." She glanced up and froze.

"_Suspect at scene! SUSPECT AT_ –" 

The world went black.


	4. Don't Be Long

Grissom slumped down in his chair and pulled off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. For the tenth time that night, he swore to never accept future promotions. Let them fire his ass.

He closed his eyes to ignore the paperwork a little longer and let himself daydream a little. Quitting. God, what a thought. No more files. No more triple homicides. He would wave his signed resignation in the Chief of Police's face. He'd drag Sara to the busiest hallway in the department, grab her by the waist and dip her, kiss until neither of them could breathe. But first and foremost, he would set this mountain of papers on fire.

Alright, enough was enough. If he was contemplating arson, Grissom knew it was time for a break. Venturing outside of his office, he thought how much sweeter the air was. The sweetness of freedom, he thought, and grinned boyishly, startling a passing lab tech.

In his lab, Greg was processing saliva samples in rhythm with U2. After shouting his name three times, Grissom found the stereo and turned the volume down.

"Dude, never touch the—Oh, hey Grissom." Greg grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Thought you were barricaded for the night."

"The prisoner needed a reprieve. How's everything coming along?"

"Great. I might even get out of here before Flag Day, which is exciting."

"Anything I need to look at?"

"Not yet. But I'd schedule some time for Sara's stuff later. Catherine said she has the mother load."

Grissom frowned. "Sara isn't back yet?"

"Not unless she's taking her evidence elsewhere." Greg looked a little hurt by the thought. "You don't think she has a new favorite lab rat, do ya?"

"You were never her favorite," Grissom said absently.

"Gee, thanks for the support." Grissom walked out without a reply. "Oh yeah, I'm really feeling the love tonight."

Digging the cellphone out of his pocket, he picked Sara's number from speed dial and waited for it to ring. "Come on, come on," he muttered, making his way through the hallways. "Pick up." Nothing. A few more rings and her voicemail finally picked up. "It's Grissom. Call me when you get this."

Over in Ballistics, Grissom found Catherine discussing a stray bullet from her crime scene.

"Catherine, when did you last talk to Sara?"

"About an hour into shift. Why?"

"Nothing since?"

"No, I've been here. What's going on?" Grissom was getting a sinking feeling.

"She hasn't handed anything over to Greg yet."

"Well, this is Sara we're talking about. The girl's got a big enthusiasm for fingerprinting."

"Her case was a basic, straightforward B&E. She should've been here hours ago. Especially since she knew we were swamped."

"It's been a busy week. Don't be so hard on her."

"I'm not angry," he snapped, walking out. Going back to his office, Grissom called Brass along the way and told him to contact the officer on site. By the time he was inside and shoving papers aside for some open space Brass was calling back.

"The officer isn't responding to radio calls. I've got a squad car on the way over now."

"Nick's in the area. I'm sending him over."

Unlike Sara, Nick answered his phone on the first ring. He was pulling away from the curb before he and Grissom even finished speaking.

It was probably nothing. Maybe Sara needed help reaching a high spot and they were too busy to answer calls.

She was fine. They worked for the government; screw-ups happened all the time.

She was fine. They would find her and she would be fine, and he was going to restrict her to lab work for a week.

These thoughts carried him outside. He was driving out of the parking lot before he was even aware of himself. And he just kept thinking, she'll be fine. She's fine. She's fine.

Trying to stay calm, knowing he was making a big deal out of absolutely nothing, he tried to think of anything to calm him. Worrying would only get him a car wreck, and they were swamped at the lab as it was.

Once, after a particularly difficult case, it took Grissom four hours to fall asleep, tossing and turning and trying not to think. When he'd finally dozed off, in his dream he was still upset, same case, same kids, and drove off without thinking. When the car stopped he was outside an amusement complex, a roller coaster looming above him. And there, at the entrance, was Sara, waiting. Just waiting. He walked up, feeling calmer just at the sight of her, and she unfolded her arms to flash him two admission tickets. Her wedding band glistened under the neon lights. She had only grinned. "Took you long enough."

He was past the strip. Grissom glanced sideways, realizing he was less than a mile away. So close. He'd find her, and she'd be fine, and in a shitload of trouble.

She's fine. She's fine. She'll be fine.

His phone rang and he yanked it from his jacket. "Grissom."

"We're inside." Nick was yelling to be heard over the clang of metal doors swinging open.

"Is she there?"

"We're looking."

"Nick, is she _there_?"

"We've got – Wait." Shouting. "We've found the officer. He's down." Oh god. "There's blood." No. She's fine. They'd find her. He'd find her, and she'd be fine.

She's fine, she's fine, she's fine, she'll be fine, Sara will be fine.

"Oh god. Grissom, the blood isn't his."

Sara...


	5. Gone

In a desolated area of the industrial district, Grissom followed the flashing lights of emergency vehicles to the warehouse. An ambulance was parked near the front entrance and a young man sat on a gurney, holding a compress to his temple and looking around, dazed. The squad car Brass had sent had become four.

"I'm here," Grissom told Nick on the cellphone before hanging up. Hurrying to the open entrance, he held up the ID dangling around his neck to avoid any arguments and didn't slow down until he saw Nick around the corner.

"Still nothing," Nick informed him, his face dark. "This place is bare. If she was here, we'd know it."

"Surrounding area?"

"Police are spreading out now."

"The blood?"

"Still warm. I had a uniform take a sample to Greg. We have Sara's file in the computer. If it's hers, we'll know soon."

And that was it. The basics, all he really needed to know at the moment, and it didn't help a damn bit.

A streak of color caught his eye and he walked to the far end of the building, recognizing Sara's kit. It was opened, items carefully spread out. The elevator door was partially dusted. The pot of red dusting powder –his own invention and Sara's personal favorite- lay to one side, knocked over, the splash of red fanning out across the ground.

"What about the evidence?"

"It's not here either. You said there was a ton, right? We haven't found a single taped print."

Control was spreading through his mind. This was work. This is what he did best.

"Alright, we're treating this as a kidnapping, which means our window of opportunity is small. Get your kit from the car. Work smart, work fast."

"You?"

"I wanna talk to the officer that was supposed to protect Sara."

Nick wisely sidestepped as Grissom barreled towards the entrance. Outside, Grissom interrupted the officer reporting to another cop with a curt, "What happened here?"

The young man looked over with spooked eyes. "I-I was just giving my statement to Officer Karmen."

"Forget Officer Karmen," he snapped. "Sara Sidle is still out there and my team is her best shot. Now tell me everything. Why weren't you with her?"

"I tried checking with her, ev-every 20 minutes, but she got testy so I wan-wanted to give her space. It's just me and the perimeter's huge, so I thought I'd walk around, make sure everything was fine." He shrank under Grissom's glare. "I came back to check on her about 10 minutes ago. That's when I was hit from behind."

"How long was she alone?"

"The warehouse is so big, and the grounds go even further and—"

"How _long_?!"

"...Maybe five hours."

Grissom had never wanted to punch somebody so badly.

Two steadying breaths to prevent getting pulled from the scene, and then, "Did you see anything that might help us?"

The officer shook his head. "Nothing. There's no traffic this far out. Nothing."

"Except the attacker."

"Grissom." He barely looked over to acknowledge Catherine. "Warrick was right behind me. Greg is packing up some tools; just call and he'll go wherever."

His sense of control slipped a little. There was a hint of panic in his voice. "We don't know where she is."

"I know. Brass told us."

The officer adjusted his ice pack. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"You've done plenty," Grissom growled. "Thanks."

"Sir—"

"Don't do it," Catherine warned, pulling Grissom away by his forearm. She found a spot away from the noise of police cruiser radios and asked in a low voice, "Can you handle this?"

"...Yeah."

"Okay. Tell us what to do."

"Have Warrick help Nick inside. I need you scouring the outside of the building. I wanna know how he got in and out, _now_."

"What are you gonna do?"

For a moment, Grissom looked completely lost, glancing around at all the activity with uncertainty. Realizing that she was losing him, she pulled him by the arm again, gentler this time. "Get your kit," she commanded softly. "We can get the perimeter done in half the time." He nodded and walked towards his vehicle while she pulled the kit from her own.

Grissom fumbled with the kit, quickly checking each compartment to be sure everything was there. Of course, Grissom thought. I haven't touched it since yesterday. Since the interview with Sara.

Sara.

Catherine appeared beside him. "Warrick and Nick are still working, but from what they can tell, there's only the pool of blood. No drops. The wound was covered before the bleeder moved."

He nodded. Evidence. Facts. The control was coming back. "Anything else?"

"Nothing from Greg yet."

"Okay. You go east, I'll take west. Cover the perimeter as quickly as possible. The crime's only half an hour old; the evidence will be fresh."

She nodded. "Shout if you find—" The blare of a siren stopped her. One of the cruisers sped off as an officer ran up to them.

"We may have a lead."

"Where?" Grissom shouted over the sudden cacophony of sirens.

"Ten blocks south. Business owner reported black smoke coming from an empty storage building. Strange car speeding away." Grissom shot around and looked to the horizon. Sure enough, he saw thin dark lines etching the sky. He slammed the back door shut and got in up front. "Get the others," he told Catherine. With a squeal of tires he was gone before she could respond.

He followed the group of cruisers, the smoke growing more visible every second.

Be there, Sara. Be fine. Be safe. Sara....

They pulled up to the building, smoke still billowing up, and officers flooded the front entrance. Grissom was right behind them, understanding the need for them to be first but unwilling to stay behind. There were doors and hallways everywhere, and smoke shifting down to eye level in an already-darkened room.

Dark save a white spot past the smoky flames of burning debris in the middle of the room.

A back entrance, Grissom realized. He spun around and ran outside, circling the building as the ambulance arrived in the parking lot behind him.

The building's lot was surrounded by rough desert growth, waist-high, and for all he knew, Sara's attacker was hiding somewhere in front of him.

Be fine, Sara. Be okay. Please be okay, Sa—

Sara?

"Sara?!" A gap in the growth ahead and a head of brown hair, barely visible.

He ran even harder, made it to her, indistinct yelling and sirens blaring behind them.

Softer this time, but still urgent. "Sara?" He slipped to his knees at her side.

Sara, sprawled on the ground, partial fetal position, pale as snow, face and arms scratched.

He checked her pulse, her breathing. Both slow but steady. He shed his jacket and draped it over her, shouting for the paramedics, darting looks around for whoever had hurt her.

"You're safe. I'm here. We're here. You're safe, honey. It's gonna be okay. You're safe, Sara." Help arrived and paramedics moved him aside as the gurney was lowered beside her.


	6. Calm Before The Storm

"I feel _horrible_."

"You look beautiful."

"Liar."

"No, really. You have such a glow."

"That would the fever."

"No, it's a glow. I told you, you're one of those people that's naturally beautiful all the time."

"Ugh, I need to get better. You waxing poetic is making me feel worse." She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. "I bet I look like Rudolph. Do I look like Rudolph?"

"You ready for some soup?"

"You're changing the topic."

"Absolutely. So, soup?"

"Sure."

He padded into the kitchen, turning up the heat on his way. In the fridge was a pot half-full of chicken noodle soup, left over from his own bout with the same bug.

"I still can't believe it," he shouted into the bedroom. "Sara Sidle cooked for me. And it made me better instead of sending me to the ER."

"Watch it with the insults, buddy. You're the reason I'm sick. Tick me off and I just might cook for you again. And law of averages states that the hospital will be your new sick ward."

He put a full bowl into the microwave and headed back into the bedroom. She had dug further under the covers, only her face and a tissue-clinging hand visible.

"You're the one that insisted on staying," he pointed out, opening a fresh bottle of water and placing it next to the alarm.

"You were too delirious to recognize anything except me and the bed."

"That's not delirium, that's smart planning." Her other hand appeared long enough to whack him. "Besides, you wanted to play nurse."

"And you just wanted to see the Naughty Nurse outfit that you thought came with the job description."

"I was open to alternatives. You could've been Naughty _Naked_ Nurse."

She opened her mouth to retort, but the microwave dinged its completion. "Oooh, soup." She looked over at him with sweet eyes. "Feed me?"

He rolled his eyes but got up anyhow. "I still say this is just a ploy to stay at my place."

"I love it here. I'm not gonna deny it. And at the moment, your bed is the most comfortable thing on the _planet_."

"Well, the idea of a key was for you to stay as often and as long as you wanted. So no more getting sick, okay?" He carefully removed the hot bowl and reached for a clean spoon. "I'm comfortable finding you in my bed anytime. I won't require a reason, believe me."

"I have a pillow in hand, ready to thwack you the instant you get back in here!"

He appeared in the doorway. "But I come bearing soup."

Her wicked smirk melted into a sweet smile. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"I'm hoping there's more than one reason."

"Shh. Food now. Romance later."

He put the bowl next to the water. "One sec. Your medicine needs to be taken with food. I'll go grab it."

"You've got 30 seconds."

"Yes, ma'am." He winked and walked to bathroom, knowing that between both their bouts his bathroom was practically a pharmacy in its own right. He was new at this whole nurse thing, so 30 minutes was probably more accurate.

He impressed himself by finding it in four minutes flat, after mistaking it for chewable vitamins twice. He shook out two gel-tabs and headed back to the bedroom.

She was curled up on her side cuddling his other pillow, sound asleep. After watching for a moment to be sure that she would stay asleep, he slipped a velvet box from his sock drawer and sat beside her on the bed.

"This probably isn't the way girls imagine it," he whispered, opening the box and pulling out the slim band. "But I figure this is way, I can't botch it as much." He reached for her hand and gently slipped the engagement ring on. "Sleep on it," he smiled. "And when you wake up, I'm sure I'll get a very honest reaction."


	7. Present Tense, Future Uncertain

His wrist was killing him. Grissom opened his eyes too quickly and winced. What the hell? He didn't have fluorescent lights in his apartment. He unfolded into a better sitting position and felt the throbbing in his wrist subside a little. After a moment it came back, one large brick of information, the events of the past day.

He frowned, trying to wake up, and lowered his gaze only to be blinded again, this time by the shiny orange chairs across from him, identical to uniform piece of plastic he was currently occupying.

Looking around, he spotted his team at the end of the hall, huddled together. He started to process the conversation.

"...shock maybe?" Nick asked.

"I don't think it's anything that drastic," Catherine replied.

"Yeah, well, it's still weird," Warrick argued. "Grissom doesn't strike me as the kind of guy that sleeps through a crisis."

"Grissom isn't the kind of guy that sleeps at all," Nick countered.

"Actually, Nick, I do. But I'm usually dangling from the top of a cave, so I can understand the confusion."

The group turned their heads in unison. "Hey, boss," Nick half-grinned. "Welcome back."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About two hours." Catherine didn't miss a beat. How long had they been talking about him?

There was movement on his other side and he looked over to see Greg arriving with a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee. "Hey," he grinned. "Good morning, sunshine." He followed Grissom's eyes to the cup. "Ah, I wouldn't suggest it boss. This stuff is the beverage equivalent of that chair you were drooling on."

"I do not drool, Greg."

"So says the guy that was unconscious."

"So says the guy that decides when you go out in the field and under what circumstances."

"Right. Gotcha." He held out the cup with enthusiasm. "Coffee?"

Grissom decided to turn his attention back to someone useful. "Catherine, any word?"

"She's still asleep. She has a mild concussion. There was a gash on her foot that required seven stitches. A lot of scratches and bruising. Considering everything that could've gone wrong, though, she's lucky."

The look Grissom shot her made it clear that he disagreed. "Did they say how long she would be unconscious?"

"They gave her something for the pain," Nick offered, "but the sleep's all her. She'll wake up when she's ready. The doctor said probably not for another couple of hours at least, though."

Grissom nodded. "Okay. We have work to do. In case you haven't guessed, we're all pulling doubles today. All other cases go the backburner. I want good news from all of you in two hours." The team nodded their understanding and headed towards the elevator. Catherine stopped and looked back. "Comin'?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you downstairs."

Standing alone in the hallway, going into Sara's room suddenly seemed like a bad idea. The kind of uncomfortable effort that was guaranteed to end with him saying the wrong thing. But Nick had assured him that she was unconscious, and would be for some time.

Now was the perfect time, then. He could see for himself that she was okay without having to worry about explanations he knew he owed her but didn't have yet.

So he walked in before he could analyze it further.

She had more color. That was a good sign. And the scratches had all been cleaned and bandaged. She just _looked_ safer than the limp Sara from the ambulance that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind.

He adjusted the blinds to keep the morning light out, straightened the chart at the foot of the bed, and poured a glass of water and placed it within reach. Just in case.

After he ran out of tasks, Grissom just stood at her side, dark eyes and a perpetual frown, watching her breathe and wondering how he could ever be expected to send her out on cases solo again.

_I wish I were like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything._

He blinked at the memory. If only she could see him now. Then again, he wasn't much for expressing his emotions. She would probably see the same Grissom as always, if not a little worn from the past half day.

Grissom sighed heavily and walked to the door. Catherine was waiting downstairs and he suspected she wouldn't be alone.

"Gris?"

Sara.

He turned, his chance to be the one framed by a doorway. Her eyes were open, barely.

"Hey," he said softly.

"He got... evidence... burned it up."

Something in Grissom clenched. "We know."

She looked so drowsy but her eyebrows bunched as she tried to think clearly. "Cath..."

"She's downstairs. Should I get her?"

The suggestion seemed to confuse her. "Cath... Cath... It was after her... She called." Her eyes fluttered and shut. He waited a moment to be sure before walking out.

- - - - - - - - -

When Grissom returned to the lab he was greeted with a mixed group of news. The good: there was plenty of good physical evidence, including the blood pool that proved not to be Sara's. The bad: the cops were too busy defending their own guy to consider a CSI and Eckley was sniffing around, smelling another important case to add to his laurels.

Grissom dealt with each announcement like a pro: No one was to touch the evidence but Nick, Warrick, Catherine and Greg. The blood was to be run through CODIS immediately. As for the cops, a very brief, very blunt phone call to Brass took care of things.

"And Eckley?" Catherine asked.

"I'll take care of it," Grissom replied, not bothering to look up. She shrugged and walked out, leaving him in an even fouler mood than before.

Conveniently enough, Eckley was in the break room, sucking own lukewarm coffee and chatting with an attractive young lab tech.

Grissom entered the room quietly, going unnoticed until he looked directly at the lab tech and said, "I need a few minutes with Eckley."

She nodded and reached for her things but Eckley stopped her with a hand. "You don't have to go anywhere." He turned his head lazily to look at Grissom. "I don't feel like chatting today, Gil."

Grissom looked at the girl again. "Now, please," he demanded softly. She left quickly, not interested in being an eyewitness.

"Well that was rude, Gil," Eckley drawled.

"My people are saying that you want to help with the investigation."

"Something like that, yeah. I'm taking it up with the boss in about an hour."

"It's not happening."

Eckley smirked. "You don't really get a say in it, Gil. Especially considering your undetermined past with the lady in question."

Grissom's face remained neutral. "Seems I do get a say. Your meeting's been cancelled. Your team is going to take up our caseload for today, maybe tomorrow too."

"That is not acceptable."

"Too bad," Grissom snapped. "I am not going to argue semantics with you, I am not going to dignify any comments about career-furthering with a reply, and I sure as hell am not entrusting any part of a case to you when it involves one of my people." Eckley merely rolled his eyes. "I mean it, Eckley. _Back off_. We have any problems because of you and I can guarantee that you will be scraping up every dead body we find in the sewer for the next decade."

Grissom stalked out of the break room. He wanted to know the condition of every piece of evidence in their possession. He barreled around the corner to his office so quickly he nearly knocked Nick over.

"There you are."

"Make it good," he warned.

Nick beamed his toothy Texan grin. "We got him."

Grissom's muscles tensed. "Where?"

"Brass is getting ready to interrogate him now, in Room 3."


	8. Pent Up

Brass and Warrick sat opposite the suspect, already past the preliminary questions when Grissom appeared in the observation room.

"Where you been?" Catherine asked.

"Putting a muzzle on Eckley. What'd I miss?"

"Not much. He's denying everything, of course."

Nick snorted. "Get this. Our guy drives away in a '75 baby blue Camero with rust-red doors. Security at a business near the warehouse got a perfect shot of him. But our suspect doesn't change into a less conspicuous car. Oh no, he goes home, packs a suitcase, stops at Taco Bell for a snack, then tries to get out of town in the same vehicle."

Catherine shook her head in amazement.

Nick continued. "The best part? He was pulled over for speeding. Cop didn't even know who he was dealing with 'til he ran the plate number."

"An impulsive criminal," Catherine murmured.

"My favorite kind," Nick confirmed. "Don't think, just act. Leave evidence _all_ over the place. We're gonna nail this guy, Grissom." But Grissom didn't reply; he was too busy watching the show with narrowed eyes.

In the other room, the suspect was clearly agitated. About 6'5", lanky but muscular, he couldn't seem to find a comfortable spot in his chair. He was beginning to sweat and his eyes never stayed on either of the men for more than a second.

"Look, I-I didn't do nothin'." Essentially his same response to the last five questions, only this time he managed to add: And if you guys say I did, then I want a lawyer. I know my rights." His body language suggested otherwise.

Grissom clenched his jaw. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"Give it time," Catherine soothed. "They'll break him down. Brass is a pro at this."

At some point Nick had handed him a folder with the suspect's background. Grissom was now clutching it in an effort to stay calm. Finally, as the manila began to tear in his fist, Grissom walked to the door. "I've had enough of this."

Catherine hurried after him. "Where are you going?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "The interrogation room. I'm not wasting anymore time when everyone - including him - knows that he won't get away with this. I'm showing the evidence, I'm demanding the truth—"

"And if he doesn't give it?" If possible, Grissom's muscles tensed even more. "Gil—"He resumed walking. "_Gil_." She grabbed him by the arm. "Look at me." He obliged. "If you go in there, there's a chance he could walk. One screw up and Sara will have to leave that hospital knowing that her attacker is free." She kept her grip, not entirely sure how to deal with any emotional outbreak that Grissom may have.

His eyes darted between her and the interrogation room's door. Finally, his muscles relaxed, giving his body a slightly deflated look. "I need to get out of here." Catherine loosened her grip but held on, and led him down the hallway.

After a while they arrived at the garage. No hit-and-runs lately, so they had the place to themselves. It was big, it was isolated, and the equipment here could take a few blows.

She gave him a few feet of space, leaning against a lift. He wasn't saying anything but she knew that his near-blowout in the observation room was only the start. She wondered how someone looking so dejected could still appear so tense.

"Gil?" she gently prodded. "Wanna talk about it?"

He said nothing but his jaw clenched. It was becoming his telltale sign.

"You know," she started carefully, "it's okay to be hurt by this. It's not always the fearless leader vs. the messed-up employees. Sometimes we're just all messed up together as a team."

Nothing.

"Are you scared for Sara? Are you worried about the evidence being weak?"

Still nothing.

She flapped her arms in resignation. "You gotta give me something, Gil. I can't help you if you don't let me." She waited. "Or maybe you don't want to be helped."

That got his attention. He rubbed a palm against his cheek in irritation, clenched his jaw again.

"Man, whatever you're holding in, it must be a whopper. Your veins are starting to pop out. What's your heart rate at?"

_It's chalk...from the plaster._

"Don't ask me that," he muttered sternly.

"Okay... So what, 20 Questions?" Nothing. She allowed herself a put-upon sigh. "Fine." She took a step closer. "Is it smaller than a breadbox?"

"Not funny," he warned.

"Well, what the hell do you want, Gil?" Nothing. "Silence, of course. There's no one here for a reason. I didn't bring you to the garage so you could gradually grind your teeth to nothing. In case you haven't noticed, one of our own is hurt and she is relying on us to make this better."

"I know that," he snapped.

"So? _What is it_?" Now she was the one with the clenched jaw. "It's Sara that's in that bed. I get that. But there is something specific that is just _getting_ to you." Another sigh. "Is it Eckley?"

"No."

"The suspect? We'll get him eventually."

"Oh, he's ours, make no mistake about that." A full sentence. Impressive.

"Well, then... The cop's involvement?"

"No."

"Is this reminding you of some case I don't know about?"

"_No_." That folder was getting some new tears. Who knew Grissom could make such a strong fist. "Just forget it."

"Not happening," she said firmly. "If it's important to you, it's important to me."

"It's nothing that's gonna help us solve this case."

Catherine wrinkled her face in disgust. "Oh jesus, it's one of those issues. Gil, if I have to tell you one more time, I swear I'll lose it. Hiding from yourself isn't going to help this case, not if you're snapping trying to control whatever the issue is."

"Well what do you want me to say?!" Grissom's irritated shouting echoed in the empty concrete room.

"I just wanna understand."

"So, what? I'm just supposed to tell you what I can't even tell myself?"

"_What_ can't you tell yourself?"

"That it isn't fucking fair!" His chest felt heavy. "It's not fair and it isn't right and it is completely fucked up."

"What is?"

"Everything. I could list anything and it would be right. Eckley, the suspect, the evidence, the cop, all of us." His voice was grim and disgusted, and a little bit sad. "It's about _Sara_, Catherine. It's about her being alone in the middle of nowhere, doing her job to help others, and nearly dying for it. It's about her being barely conscious in a hospital bed with hacked up skin and a bruised brain and still determined to give me a timeline. It's about Sara, whose greatest fears are abandonment and vulnerability and violence but still manages to look me in the eye and say what the suspect did."

"Gil—" The battered folder flew against the nearest wall.

"It's about the fact that she was missing for _five hours_ and _nobody_ noticed!!"

Catherine could only stand by, at a loss for words.

"We failed her. I failed her. And on the third floor of Desert Palms, she is lying on her left side because everywhere else hurts, wondering when she can come back."


	9. Familiar Ways

Fingers were playing with his hair.

"Gil?"

He'd been sleeping in a painful but familiar position.

"Sweetie, come to bed."

"I fell asleep?"

"We both did."

"I hate these chairs."

"You'll change your mind in the morning. You always do." He sat up slowly, wincing at a pinch in his back. Photos and textbooks were spread across the desk. She smiled from her own chair on the other side.

"I don't care how bad it is for insomniacs. We're doing our research in bed from now on."

"Since when are we capable of work in bed? We have a nasty habit of distracting each other."

With a sleepy but playful wink she got him up from the desk. He studied her face, beautiful as always, but a little pale with dark rings under her eyes. He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "You need more sleep."

"Pot. Kettle. Black. Come on, _bed_."

"Maybe we should get you something for your insomnia."

"Gil, I doubt either of us has insomnia anymore. But between work and each other there isn't much chance to disprove my theory."

He didn't bother arguing. They crawled into bed, she found the familiar spot on his chest, and both were asleep within minutes.

Grissom's eyes opened slowly. Sara. She looked peaceful enough as she slept. His eyes willingly slid shut.

It was Sunday. Days off together were rare for the workaholics and the mornings were his favorite part. Nothing rushed. Hours spent under the covers, touching, talking, memorizing colors and curves he already knew by heart.

Rough cases didn't matter those mornings. Administrative stresses didn't exist. There were no arguments, no messes. No complications. The world was population two and he could think of nothing better.

"Gil?" The dark circles were gone. Her eyes were bright and shiny. She smiled sweetly. "Morning." A hand trailed down to rest at his waist.

"Sleep well?"

She nodded. "I'm gonna get some orange juice. Want some?"

He shook his head. "Just hurry back."

She grinned. "You really love this, don't you?"

"Always will."

She leaned in for a kiss. He let the warmth of her lips flow through his entire body. When she finally pulled away, it felt too soon. It always felt too soon.

She climbed out of bed and he sunk back into the covers. In the kitchen, the phone rang. He groaned when she answered.

"Hey, no work! If I can restrain myself, so can you!" No answer. The chatter of Sara's matter-of-fact voice grew more distinct.

Grissom's eyes opened again, more reluctantly this time.

"I gotta go," Sara rushed. "Bye."

His eyes focused on white squares. The hospital ceiling, he realized. He turned his head to look at Sara, the pang in his back and neck very real this time.

"Hey!" she smiled brightly. A little too brightly, considering. Grissom scanned the bed and noticed how her right hand was positioned awkwardly. He reached out. "Hand over the phone, Sara."

A flawlessly innocent expression. "What phone?"

"Sara," he warned.

With a sigh she handed the slim cellphone. Flipping it open, he checked her call history. Nick Stokes was listed three times.

"Huh. Nick must really want lab grunge duties."

"Give him a break. He's just keeping me updated. Besides, I called him."

"Cellphones aren't even allowed in hospitals, Sara."

"We're two floors away from the ER. There isn't anything important here to interfere with."

"No arguments. No more calls." He held up the cellphone. "I'm hanging on to this."

She frowned. "I—"He held up a hand to stop her argument. The frown deepened. "Fine. We took care of the important points, anyhow."

Important points. Grissom felt the now-familiar clench. "No more work, Sara. I mean it. Concentrate on feeling better."

"I feel fine now."

"No one gets your work habits better than me. I know you want to be in the lab with us but that simply isn't an option." His voice softened. "Knowing that you're here and comfortable and safe will help us concentrate on the case." He let the words sink in for a moment before going with his impulse and admitting, "It'll help me."

She didn't let herself wonder at his words. "You guys will be fine. Nick said there's plenty of evidence."

"Sometimes there's more to a case than just the evidence, Sara." She looked up sharply, then caught herself and stared at her blanket. Talk about your declarations of love. She hated that he still said things like that with no idea what the words were really telling her.

"I'm gonna get back to the lab. Do you need anything?" He was already standing up, shrugging on his jacket. He can't wait to get out of here, Sara thought miserably.

"No." He was circling the bed, small quick glances her way. "Grissom—" He stopped. Looked at her expectantly. "They're releasing me in a few hours. I talked to Dr. Finn while you were asleep."

"I don't want you coming in tonight."

"I figured you'd say that. And it's fair, since my foot's still bandaged anyhow. One klutzy move and we're out $100,000 in equipment." She stared at him steadily to emphasize her next words. "But tomorrow night, I'm back for my normal shift."

"Sara—" 

"Grissom, if you wanna stop me, you're gonna have to fire me."

He sighed, but instead of the argument she fully expected, all he asked was, "Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm covered. Thanks."

He nodded and made his escape out the door.

- - - - - - - - -

Things could have gone better with Sara, but having drama replaced with their usual work-related bickering calmed Grissom more than he expected.

He entered the lab feeling refreshed, even responding to a lab tech's cautious hello with a smile.

"Grissom!" Greg called out, jogging up to meet him. "How'd it go?"

"What?"

"Catherine said you went to ask Sara some questions." His voice lowered for privacy. "She doing okay?"

"She'll be fine, Greg. You can talk to her yourself tomorrow."

"Back so soon?" Nick interrupted, walking up. "Are you okay with that?"

"I've been told that my opinion doesn't matter." The comment actually made him smile.

"Okay... Brass is lookin' for ya. The suspect is feeling chatty." Greg forgotten, the two started walking toward the interrogation room.

"How's it looking?"

"Golden. Our evidence is solid and Sara filled in the few gaps we had." Grissom frowned. Nick held his hands up in defense. "Hey man, she called me. That girl is impossible to argue with."

"Just give me the basics."

"Well, seems our suspect, Mr. Felman, was using the warehouse to stash stolen goods until he could find buyers. Cars, jewelry, that sort of thing. The company called us in when security reported some loose locks."

"Do we know how long he was operating from there?" 

"Company rep said it could've been as much as seven months. They've been moving their operations up to Reno."

"So what happened yesterday?"

"He heard about the police and freaked. Went to clean up the place. Panicked when he saw Sara."

Grissom impressed himself with his calm exterior. "Why did he keep her?"

"Felman saw that she was collecting evidence. He spent most of the time she was conscious in the storage building, trying to convince her to show him the best way to destroy everything. He finally gave up, knocked her out again and dumped her out back. Lit up the evidence. He was gonna clean up the warehouse too. Probably didn't know the officer was there. Freaked again, hit the cop from behind, and took off."

Grissom's forehead wrinkled in disgust. "Why are the stupid ones always the most dangerous?"

When he reached the room, Brass was already inside with a look of bored impatience. The suspect stared at the table with tightly folded arms, clearly upset.

"I've been informed that you want a deal, Mr. Felman," Grissom stated tiredly. "I just had to hear this for myself. You injured two law enforcement officials, sending one to the hospital. No way are we making a deal."

"No way, uh-uh, I am not talking about this with you. You won't listen to me. You guys are all gonna take this personally."

Brass snorted. "Personal? Personal would be making a jab about a woman half a foot shorter than you managing to give some very nasty injuries." Felman absentmindedly scratched at the gauze under his sleeve.

Grissom stared at him studiously through his glasses. "We don't need to get personal, Mr. Felman. You did this to yourself. We have enough evidence to put you away for every one of the numerous charges we'll be filing. You picked the wrong team to screw up with. "


	10. Try Normal

The next night she was back as demanded. Everybody was nice and took the time to say hi whenever she passed by, but nobody made a very big deal out of her experience, and both Sara and Grissom were quietly grateful for that.

She spent most of her time in the lab. The cut on her foot made it difficult to walk normally and much as she hated admitting it, things wouldn't really be back to normal for a while.

She took her time walking between rooms and made sure not to carry too much.

She would jump if someone spoke suddenly, but quickly learned to mellow the surprise to a mere tensing of her body.

Greg kept trying to speed up any evidence she was having processed while she was gone. It was his way of helping out and taking care of her. Sara caught on and told him so. She didn't seem angry; just told him to stop so that she wouldn't be spoiled once the special treatment stopped. They laughed, and like the other jovial moments that night, if her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, no one noticed.

Except, of course, that Grissom noticed it all. But she didn't say anything so neither did he.

Near the end of their shift she looked exhausted. It took more energy to stand than earlier. But all she did was grab a cold bottle of water from the break room fridge. When she and Catherine concurred that there was nothing about their new case that couldn't wait until tomorrow, Sara couldn't help the glint of relief in her eyes. Catherine was peering at a tox report and missed it. Grissom, at the other end of the room talking to Nick, saw it and realized that it was the biggest slip he was going to see.

She was in the parking lot, blinking rapidly from the bright morning sun and fumbling for her sunglasses, muttering to herself because the parking lot had been packed the night before and she'd ended up parking at the far end. The temporary handicap sticker the hospital had offered for her car suddenly seemed a lot more tempting.

"Sara." Even shouting my name the man manages to sound detached, she thought wryly.

She stopped to let him catch up and he handed her a slim file. "From Catherine. She needed your signature earlier and forgot to ask."

He held out a pen and she took it from him with a smile. "And here I thought you couldn't wait to get rid of me."

"If you feel that we're coddling you—"

"I was joking," she reassured him. Leaning on the nearest car she flipped through the paperwork, signed the appropriate spots, and returned the file. She stared across the parking lot and sighed dramatically. "Has the parking lot always been this big?"

Staring at the small dot that was her car gave Grissom the chance to examine her unnoticed. The circles were deepening under her eyes and he surprised himself with the desire to touch her face. They're just dreams for a reason, he reminded himself.

"Any chance that a day of Greg at your heels changed your mind about that vacation?"

She glanced at him. A stronger smile this time. He wished she would slip off her sunglasses so he could read her eyes.

"Nah. Can't risk missing out on a great case. You should know, you're the same way."

Another chance at personal chitchat. Another chance he ignored. "You sure you're okay?"

Her eyebrows bunched. Again, those damned sunglasses were in the way. "Yeah, Gris. I'm fine." And she was, he realized. The false front was gone. She had been hurt on-site and it would take time to be a hundred percent and that sucked. But facts were facts and she was dealing. She's better at being me than I am, he grumbled to himself.

"You going home soon?"

The look of irritation he made was comical. "Paperwork."

"Ouch. I'll leave it at that." Sara pulled her car keys from her jacket pocket and resumed walking. She raised a hand to say goodbye and left him standing on the sidewalk, once again debating the need to stay when the rest of his team was eagerly leaving after an easy night. But, as always, he stayed to avoid the real question: What would he do instead?

- - - - - - - -

Morning light was filtering in through the windows. He rolled over to ignore it and reached out. Soft sheets and a plump pillow made contact, but not her. He frowned, reached a little further. Still no, but there was a warm spot where she had slept.

He opened his eyes grudgingly and saw movement from the corner of his eye. She was at the dresser putting on her watch.

"Sara." His eyes wouldn't stay open. Why was he so exhausted?

She was slipping on her jacket, checking her makeup in the mirror.

He forced his eyes to stay open. "Sara?"

She was walking to the door. She glanced over briefly, slowing long enough to smile sweetly, and then she was gone. The door clicked shut and his brow furrowed in confusion even as his eyes slid shut.


	11. Just Another Miss

It had been a week since the attack. Sara was wrapping up her first triple shift since and was looking rightfully exhausted. The lab results kept coming in, though, and she was tackling them with her usual enthusiasm, barely aware of the time.

Grissom walked past the break room, heading towards his office to start the night's shift. She got up to follow but didn't catch up until he was seated at his desk.

"Grissom?"

He looked up from the memo in his hand. "Yeah?"

"You were right about the suspect. We finally got the reports from his parole officer." She stepped closer and seemed momentarily startled. "I didn't know you were pulling a triple too. You look terrible." The comment barely registered as inappropriate with her. Her head was getting foggy with sleepiness.

"You were here all day?" he asked sharply. "Sara, I said no heavy overtime for at least another week."

"There was so much to work through," she argued. "Besides, I'm _fine_."

"And I want you to stay that way. There's no point in exerting yourself when any of the others can do the work just as well." He suppressed a wince as the words left his mouth. There it was again, the right words gone wrong.

Sara ignored the implication for another argument. "This isn't a big deal unless you make it one, you know." He opened his mouth to argue and she hurriedly continued. "I'm fine, the guy's behind bars, and the evidence is ready for his court date next month."

He sighed, trying to remember when she wasn't so stubborn. Probably never. She was just too busy with the hero-worshipping to make it as obvious.

"Alright," he relented. He was too tired to argue anyhow. "If you think you're good to go, fine. All restrictions are lifted." She beamed and he held up a hand to quiet her. "On the condition that you go home and get at least four hours of sleep."

She frowned. "Greg's going to have my results ready in half an hour."

"Then he can hold onto them for four and a half hours." His tone told her there would be no argument. She shrugged her agreement and studied his face a moment longer.

"You know, I was in the lab most of the day. I didn't see you."

"I'm not the one that needs to check in with the boss."

His lack of explanation was enough for Sara to realize that he hadn't been at work all day. "Hey, um, are you feeling okay? You've been kinda zombie-like lately."

"Thank you very much, Miss Sidle. You've been a peach to work with too."

"I'm just saying..."

"The longer you stand there chatting, the longer I won't let you back in the building. _Go home_, Sara. Rest. I'll have Greg find you the second you get back." She grinned at the bribery.

Once he was alone he pushed back from the desk with a sigh, knowing that the others would be waiting for assignments. She was right, of course. He had startled himself when looking into the bathroom mirror at home earlier. He was slipping back into his usual sleep habit, not great but enough, spending more hours in bed than any other night since the Debbie Marlin case. But when the alarm went off, he felt like he hadn't slept a wink.

He made the start of shift a quick and painless affair. Handed out assignments and made a quick escape before Catherine started asking her own 'you look like a zombie' questions.

Grissom tried hiding out in his office, but dealing with people seemed infinitely better than the mess on his desk. He had lab techs bring him up to speed on everything Sara did that day and spent a good 20 minutes with Dr. Robbins exchanging quirky forensic facts over the shift's first dead body. After discussing a very unique robbing technique with Nick, Grissom was actually beginning to feel energetic. He considered mentioning the boost to Catherine but could already imagine her rolling her eyes and replying, "Yeah, human interaction is a good thing. Who knew?"

The hours hurried by and he was surprised when he saw Sara turning the corner ahead of him. She had a lilt in her step too, and Grissom figured she had already gotten the anticipated lab results from Greg. She was wearing red, a trick she had for days she needed to feel energized, and Grissom idly wondered why she didn't wear more color.

"Hey," she smiled brightly.

"Good news?"

"Greg gave me exactly what I wanted. We're gonna bust this guy for six or seven drug charges at least."

Her energy was contagious. Grissom found himself smiling as they walked down the hall together. "So what now?"

"I interview the bouncer of the strip club he was supposedly at. Shouldn't be a problem. There are already enough holes in his alibi and the bouncer's helped us out on cases before." She paused outside her stop, Ballistics, and grinned knowingly. "My case will be even tighter and I'll be out of here at a decent time. We both win."

- - - - - - - -

End of shift, and Grissom actually found himself hoping that the files on his desk had multiplied. If not, there would be no reason not to go home, and soon after that, to bed.

"Grissom!" Sara hurried up to him. "Hey. Glad I'm found you. Um, are you gonna be around for a while longer? My case is all wrapped up. I just need you to sign off on everything." Anyone else would wait until next shift. Waiting didn't usually occur to Sara, though. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.

"You're the answer to my prayers," he smiled.

"Wow, Grissom does sarcasm. I know you're swamped—"

"I was being serious, Sara."

She was nodding her head, in that slow fashion she did whenever she didn't understand but was willing to humor him. "Great. So I'll tell Brass to expect the file soon?"

"Tell him two hours. I'll drop it off myself on my way out."

"Perfect!" End of work discussion. Usually this is where she would disappear. Instead, she continued walking along with him.

"Is there something else?"

"You."

"Try being more specific."

"It's just—"She was fumbling for the right words. Definitely personal. "You've seemed off lately. But this morning you seem better, so I guess..." She wanted to know if he was okay. She just didn't want ask right out. She doesn't want to seem clingy, he realized.

"You guessed right," he reassured her. "Where's the file?"

"On your desk." Something familiar was in her eyes. "Thanks for staying. I know my enthusiasm can be tiring sometimes."

"That's not true." So matter-of-fact. It sounded softer in his head.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for more, but he left it at that. A soft smile tugged at her lips. "Okay. Well, I'm done. See you later?" She walked ahead, leaving Grissom wondering. She was taking his words at face value only; she'd been doing that for a while now.

And suddenly, he wanted to prove her wrong. Make a gesture that said, Expect more. Just a little more. He wanted to call after her, ask if she wanted coffee or maybe even lunch once she'd gotten some rest. A gesture that could be perfectly normal if they were any other two people.

But she turned a corner and the chance passed.

And a part of him wondered when normalcy became a risk.

- - - - - - - - -

He checked in with a few other people to delay his work a little longer. At this point Grissom was practically dreading sleep. His dreams used to be a reprieve. "Apparently every reprieve ends sometime."

Sara used to be a reprieve, a very active but calming source during the busiest of cases. And that had stopped once she pressed for more.

Technically, she was the one thing that didn't have to stop, he thought. She had offered more, the chance at something permanent. He had been the one to stop them. He found comfort in the fact that he didn't always ignore the truth.

_Since when are you interested in beauty?_

_Since I met you._

He was capable of saying the right thing sometimes. He just never realized it was the right thing while he saying it. When it came to social skills, Grissom wasn't the most acute.

Arriving at his office, he sighed heavily. A small stack of files sat on the desk, Sara's at the top. He'd be seeing Brass in an hour, tops.

Feeling annoyed at his own sulky attitude, Grissom sat with determination and reached for the only pen visible on his desk. He would sign these papers, return a couple of calls, talk to Brass... _Then_ he would go home and sulk.

A flash of gold and red caught his attention. Something sticking out of Sara's case file. He flipped the folder open to find an envelope with the Luxor's emblem. He looked around, almost expecting Sara to jump out and wish him a happy early birthday. Nothing but bugs in jars looked back.

He put the envelope down, not sure he wanted to know the contents. It had been a long, mostly good, day and he wasn't up to any new challenges. Then again, what were the worst-case scenarios? A wedding proposal, maybe a casino-sponsored transfer request.

Feeling a little ridiculous, he picked up the envelope again and pulled out the contents: three simple pieces of cardstock. Three pre-paid rides on Pharaoh's Fever, the Luxor's large roller coaster.

The gesture was unexpected. So was the thought behind it. Sara knew he was dealing with something worse than a little lost sleeping. And knowing that he wouldn't discuss it with her, she'd offered a respite.

_You think you know somebody._

_I never think that._

..._Ever?_


	12. Guess Again

The dreams had stopped.

Sleep was leaving him more energized, partially because there were more hours of it and mostly because whatever he was dreaming, he wasn't remembering. "Refreshed" and "rested" weren't accurate yet, but he was sure they would follow soon enough.

Grissom was slowly returning to his usual self. He caught himself thinking, "Back to normal," and grinned a little at the idea. When your workplace nickname is Bug Man, "normal" is a rare experience.

"You're giving me the trick roll?"

"We've all got problems, Nick," Catherine argued. "Grissom, these assignments suck."

Yep, as normal as possible.

"You're absolutely right, Catherine. You too, Nick. I'll just saunter on down to one of the local gangs and demand some more interesting crimes to pass the time."

Warrick looked at him in disbelief. "Did you just use the word 'saunter'?"

"Well you can forget this," Catherine huffed. "It's been a long week and I'm pulling seniority." She glanced at each of the team members in turn. "Sara, what've you got?"

Sara held up her case slip with little enthusiasm. "Property crime in the boondocks. It's yours if you want it."

Catherine wrinkled her nose. Nick did the same, drawling, "This is just pathetic. Our crime lab is the busiest in the nation. Where's the action?"

"Maybe only the dumb criminals are left," Sara suggested. "We've scared everyone else off."

"I understand everyone's boredom," Grissom said irritably, "but suck it up. Like Catherine said, it's been a long week. Monotony means going home on time. And as for the lack of _real_ crime—" His eyes studiously avoided Sara's. "—we should take the lulls when we can. Warrick, you're with Catherine. Sara, meet me outside in ten."

"You're coming with?" she asked, surprised.

"It's near the boundaries of our jurisdiction. If the locals get testy, I'd prefer to deal with them." All of which was really Grissom-speak for, "Bureaucratic bullies delay our Fun Time With Lab Equipment and you're too polite."

Three hours later, however, it was Grissom that was struggling to be polite, if only to prevent an official complaint from being added to the precarious stack of papers on his desk.

"I'm not sure what the trouble is." His gestures had a wider arc than usual; it was the only hint to Sara that he was losing patience. "There's no crime here. Thus, no crime scene for us to process."

"These are good boys," Sheriff Spencer was insisting. "They wouldn't call in a false report."

"I'm not disagreeing with the destruction of property. Neon pink graffiti is hardly a natural occurrence. But it's obvious that those two young men were the ones to do it and there are no laws against spray painting one's own property."

"I understand what you're saying, Mr. Grissom, but clearly you're not listening to me. These boys—"

"Pulled a prank," Sara interrupted, flashing a knowing boys-will-be-boys smile. "And now they're afraid of their parents coming home and finding out. We enjoy our job very much, Sheriff Spencer, and after a two-hour drive nobody would be more willing to declare this a crime more than us. But it's probably best that it isn't, considering that they're just boys. Let the parents deal with them, and all three of us can get back to more productive matters." She broadened her smile.

The sheriff visibly relaxed. "Well, you've got a point there." He nodded curtly to Grissom. "Thanks for your time anyhow." He nodded to Sara. "Miss Sidle, a pleasure." And with that, he walked back to his cruiser.

Grissom looked to Sara with a mix of curiosity and awe. "How did you do that?"

Sara shrugged. "Spend enough time with Catherine... Besides, you aren't the only ones that think it's been a long week." The smile she offered Grissom was much more sincere. "Ready to go home?"

He picked up his unused field kit and fell into step next to her. "You're getting better with the political aspect of our work."

A random thought about the promotion Nick had nearly won over her ran through Sara's head, but she ignored it and simply said, "Thanks."

Grissom, ever the subtle one, used this as his segue into her attack. "You seem good. Have things been—"Sara faltered, nearly falling to her knees, but Grissom was quick to support her, catching her arm with his free hand. "You okay?"

"Mud," she explained distractedly. "Dry as a bone in Vegas but enough rain out here for green lawns, can you believe it?"

"You could always move out here."

"And miss your guys' cheerful demeanor every day? Not a chance."

"It's only a two hour commute," he joked. "I could get you forensics journals on tape as a housewarming gift. The time would just fly by."

She smiled in acknowledgement but seemed distracted. Grissom was beginning to despise sunglasses. Whenever he wanted to know what she was really thinking lately, those damn things were keeping him from reading her eyes.

"I'll drive," she suddenly offered.

"Oh. Sure." His forehead wrinkled in confusion but when they arrived at the car he got in on the passenger's side without comment.

Sara was quiet during the drive. She seemed lost in thought. Not particularly emotional, he decided, just very... concentrated. Silence was one of Grissom's most comfortable settings, so interrupting her thoughts to talk away the two hours back seemed pointless.

The air conditioning was blowing on his face, hot summer sun was pouring through the windows, and the road before them was an endless straight line. The murmur of the engine was rhythmic...

"Oh my..." Her laughter was musical.

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows as he made his way through the crowds.

"_What_ are you wearing?"

He glanced down. "I'm an hour late. It only seemed fair."

"Our honeymoon was a week long. You didn't wear shorts once."

"I'm a father spending Labor Day weekend with his very understanding wife and daughter. Gotta dress the part."

"Daddy, Daddy!" Maya came running up, pigtails flopping against her freckled shoulders.

"Sweetie, you seem confused. You're wearing shorts _and_ a skirt."

Maya giggled, so much like her mother. "Silly, it's a _hula_ skirt. I'm gonna be in the school play!" She turned to Sara. "I need more sunblock. My neck's feeling hot again." Sara pulled out a tube and spread a generous amount on the young girl's skin. "Can I go down to the beach? I wanna practice my dance on the sand."

"Sure, sweetie. Just don't be too long, okay? They might sell out of icecream." Maya giggled again and ran off. Alone, Grissom took a moment to absorb the sight of Sara lying casually under an umbrella, long legs stretched out before her, sunglasses perched on her nose.

"I'm sorry I was late."

"I understand. I always do." She kept her eyes straight, watching Maya down by the water. The busy beach scene was reflecting in her glasses and Grissom found it distracting.

"She misses you."

"We'll play miniature golf later." He gazed at their daughter. "And I made it clear that the rest of the weekend I'm unreachable."

"I'm not talking about Maya." He looked over sharply. The sunglasses were finally gone.

"I don't understand."

"Of course you do." She stood up and stepped close, purposely invading his personal space. She sighed. "What are you doing, Gil?"

He wasn't sure how to respond. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Think going back to normal is so easy? Or right, even?" She rested her forehead on his and let her eyes slide shut. "We wouldn't be here if you really thought that." She pulled away.

"We can fix this. It's just... This isn't as easy as it was before."

"Of course not." She pointed away. "I'm right there. And the real thing feels so much better, doesn't it."

He felt his mouth moving but couldn't hear his own response.

She leaned close. "You're a wonderful man, Gil Grissom, and I love you dearly. But for a genius you can be pretty stupid sometimes."

A hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Grissom?"

His eyes opened with groggy energy.

"Grissom? Hey, we're back."

He looked out the window with bleary confusion. The lab's building sat before them. "I fell asleep."

"I noticed," she smirked. "But if I have to go in and file paperwork on our non-crime, then so do you."

He rubbed his eyes, hardly eager to adjust to sunlight that would be gone again in a moment, and stumbled out of the car.

Sara's cellphone rang. "Sidle... Yeah... You wish... Actually, we're outside. Give him five minutes and he's all yours... Sure. Bye." She turned to him. "Nick and Greg got antsy and now there's a batch of test tubes in shards." A good-natured grin. "Welcome back, boss."

- - - - - - - - -

Grissom had expected to be fighting off a distracting analysis of the unexpected dream all day. In fact, though, the expectations were the only thought he gave it for the rest of the shift. Nick and Greg were scolded, equipment replacement requests were filed, and everything was back to normal.

He thought he was home free until, 15 minutes past end of shift, Sara passed his office. Suddenly, the desire to talk with her, just sit and _talk_, was overwhelming. He had grabbed his keys and sunglasses and was out the door before second-guessing took over.

Her hair was clipped back, probably to compensate for the hot day considering her dark half-sleeved top, and as he approached her Grissom noticed how accidentally beautiful she looked.

She wasn't as aware of him. In fact, she was shutting the car door and turning the key in the ignition.

"Sara!"

She looked up in surprise as he stopped in front of her rolled-down window.

"Did I forget something?"

"No. I was just curious if you had breakfast plans. There were some papers from a new journal that caught my eye. Thought you'd like to discuss them." When in doubt, bait Sara Sidle with facts and numbers.

It took a second for Sara to react. It's okay, Grissom thought, I'm shocked at me too. "I'd like to but I have court."

He frowned in thought. "I thought that wasn't for three hours."

Her surprise was obvious this time. "Good memory. We haven't talked about it for, like, two weeks."

"So that gives you time for some coffee." He was making an effort, she realized.

"Not really." She was smiling to cover the fumble in her words. "I have an errand. It can't really wait."

"Oh. Sure."

"Otherwise, it'd be great. But, um..." She looked awkward. Grissom wanted to kick himself for putting her on the spot. Only a few days ago he had been applauding her ability to move on. But it's not a marriage proposal, his mind argued back. It's coffee. Between friends. We should get that back, at least.

"You should go. Traffic near the courthouse is horrible on Fridays." He stepped back so she could pull away, and that was that.


	13. Delicate

Greg snored.

This was a piece of information he could've lived without, but when Grissom walked into the break room in search of Warrick it was a fact he learned nonetheless.

Two lab techs were out with the flu and Greg had willingly come in for a double shift on his day off. After a particularly busy workload the past few hours, things seemed to have calmed and Grissom had suggested a break before the inevitable wave of new evidence from people still on-site.

Exhausted, Greg had no problem taking advantage of the time. He lay curled up on the break room sofa, softly snoring. A post-it on his forehead read: WAKE ME AT 2!

Confirming that Warrick was nowhere in sight, Grissom grabbed an apple and left, catching Greg smirk in his sleep and making a very strong effort to not imagine why.

"Do you know where Greg is?"

Grissom stopped in his tracks, startled by Sara's sudden appearance at his side. "The break room."

"I was there a minute ago. It was empty."

"Look down." She gave him a puzzled look. "Try the warm lump vibrating the sofa."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's one experiment I never want to be part of."

Grissom half-smiled. "He's asleep. Be gentle."

She grinned evilly. "Aren't I always?" She backtracked while Grissom remained in the hallway, watching her go in and hearing a file smack Greg.

"...No way it's two already."

"C'mon, Goldilocks. I need these hairs analyzed before my perp gets released."

Sara came striding out of the break room and Greg stumbled out a moment later, barely conscious, rubbing his head. "Y'know, I've imagined waking up to you, and sometimes there was even some 'punishment' involved, but you've thoroughly wrecked that dream."

"I'm the only one back with evidence," she taunted him, turning the corner. "Process me quickly enough and you can go back to whatever dreamworld you want, Greggo."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the suggestion behind her words and retreated to his office.

He was engrossed in some lab results of his own when there was an urgent knock at the door. "Yes?"

"Um, Mr. Grissom?" It was Kelly, some intern he vaguely remembered approving last month. She spent the majority of her time with day shift. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you."

"It's fine." She seemed more fidgety than usual. "What do you need?"

"Greg –the lab technician? – he asked me to find you."

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure. Ms. Sidle told me not to, but Greg asked first, so..." As her voice trailed off she looked at him with wide hopeful eyes.

"Okay, Kelly. Thanks."

She brightened up. "Sure thing."

Strange. Usually Sara couldn't wait to discuss a piece of evidence. Grissom put his own findings aside and headed to the lab, his curiosity peaked.

As he neared it became clear that something was up. Sara was sitting, only her face visible, frowning and staring down. Greg was nowhere in sight. He pulled open the door and Greg popped into view next to Sara. "What's going on?"

Now that he was in the room, Grissom realized that Sara wasn't frowning; she was wincing. She was on Greg's stool and her right foot was lifted in front of her, her boot discarded on the floor. A red stain was spreading on her sock.

She hissed in pain. "Ah, damn damn damn."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." She sounded so annoyed with herself.

"Your foot is bleeding, Sara. That's not nothing." Greg stood nearby with a guilty 'aw crap, I broke her' look.

"Greg, go to the break room and find the first aid kit." He nodded, eager to be of use, and hurried off. Grissom turned his attention back to Sara, looking at her foot with concern. "What happened?"

She only looked up with unreadable eyes. "It's really nothing. Greg and I were just goofing around and..."

"And?" She didn't seem interested in adding more details. Grissom sighed. "Alright, fine. We need to get you out of here."

"So I don't contaminate evidence, I know. I tried telling Greg. He wouldn't let me move."

He looked at her with puzzled eyes, thinking, And people think I'm work-obsessed. "No. In the break room you can keep your leg properly elevated." He went to her side and reached for her arm. After a second of hesitation she let him put her arm around his shoulders. She slid off the stool and tested her balance.

"You good?" She nodded. "Okay. Let's get you in there before Greg flies back in here and hurts you again."

"It's not like he attacked me," she mumbled, cautiously taking each step.

"I was kidding, Sara."

"Now I _know_ you're overthinking this cut," she joked. She instinctively hissed as she took a step with her injured foot and quickly covered with, "Once we get in there I'm sending Greg back to my sample. Chance of a perfect match was looking very good before."

"Before your act of spontaneous hemorrhaging?"

"There isn't that much blood."

"Short of a papercut, I'm not going to distinguish levels of blood loss with my CSIs. If you get hurt like this again, take care of it and let me know." He noticed her sending a quick look his way before they stepped through the break room doorway.

Greg was rifling through the first aid kit. Grissom sent him back to the lab. "Humor the wounded."

Alone together, Grissom took out gauze, disinfectant and a bottle of Tylenol while Sara adjusted her leg on the sofa and continued to look annoyed.

"You'll need to take that sock off." She made a face but did as she was told and Grissom's jaw clenched at the sight. Her gash from the attack two weeks earlier had mostly healed, but there was an ugly reddened slit down the middle covered in a line of professionally even butterfly bandages. The blood had been running from between the bandages.

"You told me that you were healing well," he said, incredulous.

"I was. I _am_." She huffed in frustration. "I told you it was nothing. It's not even Greg's fault."

He gestured at the bandages. "When did this happen?"

She looked him in the eye. "Three days ago."

"Three—" He looked at her with skeptical disbelief. "And you didn't tell me?" She had been giving overtly independent, I-can-deal-with-anything signals lately, but failing to inform him of her new injury was blatant disregard of departmental regulations. Grissom suppressed a shudder at how boss-like he sounded, instead concentrating on his irritation with Sara.

"It wasn't important," she defended.

He frowned but bit back a sarcastic reply as he moistened a cotton swab. Clean the wound, apply new bandages, and _then_ kill her.

When he reached for her foot she caught his hand to stop him, quickly adjusting her fingers to touch the cotton swab instead of him. "It's fine." There it was, the uncomfortable vibe they had grown so accustomed to. "I can do it."

He nodded and stood up. "We're going to talk about this later."

"Yeah, I figured that." She started cleaning the blood away, wincing a little at the cool water's contact. He straightened and walked to the door. "Grissom?" He turned. "Thanks for helping me in here." She offered a small smile, then turned back to her foot with the set mouth of concentration.

- - - - - - - - -

The rest of the shift flew by. He saw Sara once more, only in passing, and both were too distracted with new cases to consider stopping to talk.

Paperwork was piling up again. It was more in-depth than the usual signature-only stuff too. Grissom wondered vaguely if his last years with the department would be without any cases; nothing but paperwork and meetings until he finally surrendered and retired.

As if sensing his need for a break, Sara appeared in his doorway, knocking even though the door was open.

"I know I said we needed to talk, Sara, but it has to wait. I've managed to get way behind on paperwork. Again."

"Actually, I just came to drop this off." She set a Starbucks cup on his desk. "Nick did a coffee run. Everyone figured that with piles like these you'd be irritable."

"So you're the only one willing to face me?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Besides, my case is the only one finished. It seemed fair."

He smiled his thanks before reluctantly reaching for the next file. Sara made no move to leave. Grissom looked up, waiting. "Was there something else?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast." Her grin was stronger now. "Since I left you in the parking lot last time it only seems fair."

"I'm too busy to stop now."

The grin faltered. "Oh, well, yeah, I know. I mean, I figured as much. I meant whenever. My treat." He made the attempt before, she reassured herself. That has to put the boundaries a little more in focus.

"Can you give me an hour?" That snapped her from her thoughts. He didn't seem to think the question was unexpected. He merely watched with expectant eyes, waiting for her reply.

"Sure." Her grin was broad, completely authentic. "It'll give me time to go home and change. City lock-up isn't the cleanest of places." She hurried out, and it took a moment for Grissom to realize that she was leaving before he could change his mind or she started to ramble.

Blame it on the paperwork or the busy day he was wrapping up, but it didn't occur to Grissom that breakfast was anything more than a chance to talk about work. He was reading and writing so hurriedly his only thoughts on the topic were, "Forty-five minutes until I need to meet with Sara." and "Half an hour until I need to meet with Sara."

Finally, though, he glanced at his watch and thought, "Only five minutes until Sara gets here." His hand froze halfway to the dwindling pile.

Sara. Oh, crap.

"Ready for a break?" He looked up, still processing his minor epiphany. She looked freshly showered and her clothes were different than before. Deep blue looks good on her, he randomly thought. "Gris?"

"Yeah." How could he not have realized earlier? The purpose of the meal was completely undefined, but he reached for his jacket nonetheless, no idea of what trouble he was probably getting himself into.

"I know I'm early, but Greg keeps apologizing. I had to get out of there." She stood aside as he walked past and fell in step with him. "I know you have to come back. Why don't we take separate cars?"

"Sure."

"Meet you at the Desert Star?" It was the diner they usually chose for team breakfasts. Sara figured that they could use every bit of comfort possible.

Grissom's drive to the diner was a quiet one. He kept the radio off and the windows rolled up to guarantee complete concentration. He was having breakfast with Sara, just Sara, and after all the events of late he didn't want to place her in another awkward position.

Before, when they were just starting out as colleagues, there was no need for walls, and he missed that. And so he decided against a game plan. No strategy. He would simply treat the situation with the care of a butterfly ready to be framed. The layered irony was not lost on him.

She was at a corner booth big enough to seat six and Grissom silently thanked her for the breathing space. Almost as soon as he sat a waitress appeared to get their orders, recognizing them as regulars.

Once the waitress left they chatted about an upcoming lecture that Sara was schedule to attend. She was looking forward to the experience but, as always, wishing she didn't have to miss work because of it. Grissom enjoyed the relaxed conversation but wondered when Sara would get around to whatever topic was on her mind.

As it happened, though, Sara didn't seem interested in personal topics. They discussed cases, the journal he had mentioned in the parking lot, even the upcoming softball game against day shift. By the time their plates were cleared away the two were engaged in a cheerful debate of computer simulations vs. test dummies.

The check arrived and she snatched it from his reaching hand. "My treat, remember?" She pulled a twenty from her pocket and put it on top of the bill. "Besides, I'll bet those race roaches of yours are spoiled. Gotta save your money for the divas, Grissom." The waitress came to collect and Sara smile up at her. The smile remained when she looked back at Grissom. "This was fun."

"I needed a break," he admitted. "The walls were beginning to close in."

"I don't know how you do it. Sometimes just the dailies for a case are enough to make me cross-eyed." She sipped the last of her coffee and reached for her jacket. "Ready?"

"Not the right question," he grumbled.

She smirked. "Fair enough. But those papers won't sign and initial themselves. Be a team player, Gris."

She followed him outside and stopped when they arrived at his car. Hers was parked a little further down. "So," she half-sighed. "Work for you and bed for me. Thanks for coming out; I know you're swamped." She shrugged. "It was nice, though. We haven't done the breakfast thing for a while." Her eyes didn't quite meet his own.

"Maybe next time you can explain how you hurt your foot." She had no problem looking at him now. Grissom wondered if it was her injury or the hint of another meal together.

"...It was a roller coaster," she admitted.

"I wasn't aware they could bite."

His attempt at humor didn't brighten her face. "You ride them when you need to. Warrick said you took him on one, once." Her eyes sought his, trying to make him understand. "I figured that if it worked for you, maybe it would work for me. It seemed like the kind of thing that we would have in common."

"Is there something I can do?"

"No. It's nothing, really." She was using that word so often. "I just... I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about the warehouse and I was seeing his face everywhere and I just needed to fix it."

Grissom ignored the tight feeling in his chest. "Did it work?"

"I never got the chance to find out." She flashed a self-deprecating grin. "I tripped going up the steps to buy a ticket. Cut my foot back open and decided that a doctor made more sense at the moment."

Well, that explained her determination to drive everywhere lately. She was trying to cover up the fact that she shouldn't even be on her feet.

"Sara, if you need to talk—"

"I'm fine," she insisted, smiling. That was another word he kept hearing from her. Except, he was certain that she was. Hiding something like this wasn't her most brilliant move, but she was handling her attack in her own way.

"I don't want the others to know."

"You kept an injury from me, Sara. You're not in a position to be making demands."

"I can get Greg to stay quiet." Grissom doubted anything could keep Greg quiet, but he kept that opinion to himself. "Everyone's been great but I don't want more subtle attempts to tiptoe around me." She took a step closer. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think I could handle work. It's just a cut. And I'll be more careful."

"Alright," he conceded with a nod. "If you say you're okay to work, then I'm going to take your word for it. And if you can keep Greg calm then more power to you." She laughed as she walked away.

He pulled up behind her in the line of cars waiting to cross traffic. He could see her mouth moving as she sang along with the radio. Grissom thought of her habit of singing in the lab and smiled at the quirk. Breakfast had left him feeling good.

She drove off, waving goodbye before turning at the next intersection, leaving him in the midst of morning rush hour. At least he wouldn't be seeing his desk again for a while.

Waiting for the light to turn green, he thought back to the meal they had just shared. Grissom hadn't realized just how much he missed their time together. And Sara had handled things like a pro, never letting the conversation become too personal or uncomfortable. Their talk was simple and controlled. She hadn't shown a desire for anything more. Another sign of her growing independence.

Another sign of her detachment from him.

He frowned. He suddenly felt tired. She hadn't made an effort and that was a good thing. It bothered him that he didn't feel convinced. Choices had been made and there was nothing else to be done.

And what if she had pressed him during breakfast? What could he possibly say that would make things better, or at least sound different than his usual attempt to maintain order in the face of her requests.

He tried to imagine the conversation in his head. "It's not you, it's me. Literally. When the thought of risking what inadvertently became my entire life causes a panic attack, caution is understandable. And since inaction is so much easier...well, there you go. But if it helps, I could only ever picture myself with you."

Grissom sighed. He was good at logic. He knew the timing would never be right. He also knew that even though they were going about things the same as always, the atmosphere just felt different. She was prepared to work past that. He... Well, he didn't know what the hell he was doing anymore.

Annoyance grew to anger. Grissom was angry with himself, for still wanting what would never happen. One day, at this rate, he would slip and she would know everything. And then he wouldn't even have the friendship they had just started to repair. He didn't want to lose her.

She wasn't vital. He wouldn't let it get that far. But she kept the air circulating in his world.


	14. So Much For Equilibrium

"You look good." Catherine eyed him closely, suspicious. "Really good. What gives?"

"Great sleep," Grissom replied happily.

Catherine snorted. "Figures. Most men only get that look from the kind of activity that prevents sleep."

Grissom shrugged. "I'm an easy man to please." Catherine arched an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Now, if you're done with the thinly-veiled insults, I have cases to hand out."

Catherine held up her hands in false surrender. "Hey, I wouldn't dream of stopping you." Grissom grabbed the assignments from his desk and walked out with her close on his heels, asking, "Seriously, though, what is it? Did Eckley die or something?"

The rest of the team had already assembled in the break room. Sara and Nicky were discussing their current case while Warrick prepared a cup of coffee from Greg's fresh pot.

Grissom hadn't been kidding. In the days following his breakfast with Sara, Grissom had experienced sound and refreshing sleep. The dreams were still gone and he barely gave them a thought, but even better, the strange lack of energy had ceased.

Sara glanced up from a pile of photographs. "Don't suppose it's a slow night. Nick and I could have this case closed by end of shift."

"No such luck." He handed her an assignment slip. "You're off the DeLaury case. A woman's been reported missing over in Bridgewood Heights--possible abduction. Warrick, you're with me at the Stardust. Catherine, Nick, you're on call tonight. Try to get some open cases wrapped up. You're getting behind." He gestured for Warrick to follow him as he walked out. The others went their separate ways.

- - - - - - - - -

"The man's scum," Sara asserted. "You saw that house. And how the kids were behaving. He's a control freak."

"You won't get any argument here." Brass huffed a little as they continued up the stairwell. "What is with this heat? Where's that cool weather that was headed our way?"

"It's Las Vegas," Sara sighed. "How cool did you actually expect it to get?" He was right, though. The heat was worse than usual. Temperate weather would've been a nice change of pace. She was relieved to see sunlight appear above them. One more flight to go.

Roger Denton had insisted that no one had heard from his wife since Friday morning when she left for work. It was now early Monday morning and after interviewing the family they had decided to trace Grace Denton's steps through a normal workday.

They had gotten lucky early on. The parking garage they were at now had checked their computer system earlier and confirmed that although Mrs. Denton had driven in Friday morning, she had never driven out.

Grace Denton's car was parked on the ninth floor, the top. There were no surveillance cameras there because sun glares prevented the footage from being useful. Sara glowered at the security officer when he explained this. He then added that the elevator was currently being repaired. This time it was Brass that scowled.

And so they scaled the unventilated stairs, discussing the case's details to distract from the suffocating heat.

Reaching the top and feeling a slight breeze, Brass managed a small smile. Sara looked less than pleased as her eyes immediately fell on the only car matching the description of Grace Denton's. She walked over, confirming that the license matched as she neared.

"The doors are unlocked," Brass noted, opening one of the back doors. He pulled out a handbag and dangled it for Sara to see. "Purse in the back seat."

"Keys?" she asked hopefully.

He rifled momentarily through the unzipped purse and found a keychain packed with keys. "You thinking the trunk?"

She nodded. "If she was going somewhere, there might be luggage."

He tossed the keys to her. "Give it a shot. I'll check out the front seat." She walked behind the car, sifting through keys and wincing as they reflected the sun, while Brass searched under the seats and in the glove compartment. After a moment the trunk popped open, followed by silence. "...Brass."

He stuck his head out. "Yeah?"

She appeared next to the car, a sad frown tugging at her lips. "We need to get David up here with a body bag. Grace Denton's in the trunk."

- - - - - - - - -

Paperwork needing attention was at a minimum. There had been no major administrative problems for three days. His favorite baseball team was in the midst of a winning streak. And Sara had suggested breakfast the next morning for the entire team.

In the world of Gil Grissom, life was going well. It was nice to have things back to normal, he decided. Grissom wasn't sure how much his time with Sara had helped, but at the least he knew that they were back to the light, comfortable bond of the old days. The tension before had been too much. For the calm it brought him now, Grissom decided that he could stay content with her current position in his life.

"Hate to break that zen mode of yours, chief." Grissom looked up. Greg was walking in, waving a file. "But Nick's got a piece of evidence that requires your expertise."

Bugs. Grissom grinned like a kid. Apparently life could get even better.

- - - - - - - - -

"This is absurd!" Mr. Denton bellowed, not for the first time. Sara continued to grind her teeth and tried to tune him out. Between the discovery in the trunk and Mr. Denton's rap sheet of aggressive behavior, a warrant had been issued. The scope limited Sara's search to Grace Denton's belongings, for any signs that she was going to leave her husband. She was taking her time, being as thorough as possible, while Brass dealt with the husband downstairs.

"Is my mommy really dead?" A girl of five or six stood a few feet away, watching Sara intently with wide blue eyes. Sara wondered how hard she must have been concentrating to not notice someone else in the room.

"Annie!" Another girl appeared, at least 13, keeping her voice low to avoid attention. "Stay out of here!"

"I wanna talk to the cop."

"Oh, I'm not—"

"She's not a cop," the older girl said knowingly. She looked over at Sara for the first time. "She's too young. She doesn't get it."

"That's okay." Sara forced a smile. She was bad with kids. Lack of experience, really. It was obvious, though, that the older girl was trying to behave motherly. No one should have to grow up so fast, Sara thought sadly.

"Are you gonna catch the bad man that hurt Mommy?"

"Annie, _stop_."

"Not all bad people are men," Sara said, too busy with the task at hand to really wonder if this was an appropriate conversation for a couple of kids.

"This one is." Sara looked up sharply. The older girl sounded so certain.

"What's your name?"

"Megan."

"What makes you say that it was a man, Megan?"

"Mommy had a friend," Annie said matter-of-factly.

"Is that true, Megan?" Megan nodded. "Do you know what kind of friend?"

"He was her boyfriend. We weren't supposed to know but we got home early one day and he was here."

"We're not s'posed to talk about it," Annie whispered.

"Dad couldn't know," Megan explained. "Not ever. He gets angry. We didn't want her to get hurt."

Sara impressed herself with how calm she was staying. Grissom would be proud. "This is very important, Megan, so I need you to think hard and tell me the truth, okay? Do you know his name?"

- - - - - - - - -

Even the good days can be busy days. Nick's insect find had proved to be more of a puzzle than expected, and when Grissom had finally returned to his office the files were once again piling up. It didn't seem possible that one lab could create so much paperwork in a matter of hours.

He took a pile to the break room for a change of scenery and poured a fresh cup of coffee to brace himself. Finish this pile and the rest wouldn't seem so daunting tomorrow. Grissom kept reminding himself of that, but it didn't stop him from glaring at each new file he picked up. Some days it felt like Brass' demotion after Holly Gribbs was punishing _him_ more. Good day, Grissom reminded himself. Stay positive, don't ruin it.

"Since when do you put this much effort into supervisory stuff?" Catherine was near the door, jacket on and keys in hand, watching him with puzzled eyes.

"I am determined to make tomorrow as good as today."

"And all those evil files were plotting against you."

"Something like that."

"Okay...Well, have a good night. And, uh, try not to go crazy. The interns are scared enough of you as is."

He gave an absentminded nod and went back to his files, wondering if the Shift Supervisor pay raise was worth the inevitable carpal tunnel syndrome.

- - - - - - - - -

"My people had the worst time trying to get these records," Brass grumbled. "For a guy so vocal about his innocence, Mr. Denton had no problem calling up his lawyers. Not even time to mourn his wife's death."

"Yeah." Every person in scrubs that passed by distracted Sara. She couldn't understand what was taking the doctor so long at this time of night.

"We've been going at this all day. You must be beat."

"Not really." She smiled on cue. Brass wondered how often Grissom was letting her get away with that act. "But you can go ahead. I'll leave any updates on your voicemail."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. This is my last stop, too. Aside from the lab, I mean."

"Okay. Just don't go overboard, okay? Grissom'll have my head."

She nodded but her attention was already back to the passing doctors. Brass wasn't a fool; he knew as well as the others how personally she took cases like this.

Sara was oblivious to the knowing looks from Brass as he departed. There were fewer doctors around now, and not one had even glanced in her direction. Irritation was building up. Didn't these people realize that a request for records this time of night must be important?

"Ms. Sidle?" Sara looked up and felt relief when she saw the folder in the doctor's hands. "Thank you for waiting. If you'll come to my office, we can go over the records you requested."

"Actually, I'm just going to be a courier. In cases like this it's best if the findings are explained to me by our M.E." The doctor hesitated. "Unless, of course, there's something that you'd like to personally add."

"No," the doctor decided, handing her the file. "That's a complete copy of her records and x-rays. I think they speak for themselves. But please call if you have any questions." He managed a weak smile. "We saw Grace here quite often, I'm afraid. You couldn't find a sweeter woman. I want to help in any way I can."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sara took a deep breath as he walked away. It had been obvious to her and Brass that Grace Denton was a victim of spousal abuse. To have an affair under those circumstances she must have been desperate for affection.

Sara stared at the file, balancing it on her palm to gauge the weight. It was heavy, probably mostly from x-rays. Broken bones, fractures, internal problems. She knew what to expect. She just hadn't expected so much of it.

She took a deep breath and opened the file.

- - - - - - - - -

Instead of driving home Brass headed to the lab, to the one person driven enough to understand what Sara was going through, and probably the only person that had a right to know if one of his employees was getting stressed so early in a case.

He found Grissom in the break room bent over a stack of files, looking very much like a coma patient.

"I remember those days," Brass drawled. "Pulling doubles just to keep the files from flooding the floor."

Grissom didn't bother to look up. "I have five more to go and then I'm leaving."

"Whatever you say, pal. I didn't even waste time making up that much of an excuse when it was me."

"How's the Denton case coming along?" His own words caught his attention and he looked up. "And why are you here instead of my CSI?"

"That's no way to make a guy feel loved," Brass chided sarcastically.

"Where's Sara?"

"My bet? Still at the hospital."

"Problem with the records department?"

"No." It was all Brass said. It was all he needed to say. "Good luck with those files. You have my sympathy." He disappeared out the door.

Grissom sat back in his chair, frowning in thought and staring at the doorway as if the answers to his problems were in plain sight. After a moment he stood, files forgotten, and tried to calculate the driving time to Desert Palms this time of night while looking around for his keys.

At the hospital he operated on habit. Where to park, what doors were open at night. His mind was busy with a thousand other thoughts, mostly worries involving Sara.

He never faltered in his steps, no matter what his mental distractions were. He ignored any comparisons between this visit and the night he had picked her up from the police department.

She must have noticed his walk, because out of all the people milling past she only looked up when he neared. Her nose and cheeks were red; her eyes were dark and moist. But as always, she didn't hesitate to look him straight in the eye, making no effort to hide her emotions, practically daring him to call her on her behavior.

It never became easier for her. And in a way, he hoped it never did. The thought of Sara becoming more like him broke Grissom's heart.

But as they sat there in a sea of unaware people, he wished that just once there was an easy fix for her problems. Something to lighten her heart. An explanation for the horrific acts they saw on a daily basis and dealt with in such different ways.

_God, Sara. I have so many unanswered 'whys'._

His voice was gentle. "Just give it time."

She nodded numbly, staring forward.


	15. Flawed

Specifics would be the undoing of Gil Grissom.

The politics of his job never ended. Catherine had no problem finding loopholes in his orders. Paperwork was nothing but details and orders typed up and dropped on his desk. Specifics were the enemy.

Like the rest of his CSIs, Sara was tenacious. He had learned early on that it was his job as their supervisor to ensure that determination and love of the job didn't kill them all.

So, really, when he told Sara to give him the x-rays and go home, the implied 'get some rest' was merely a loophole to her. Again, specifics. By now Grissom should've been habitually ending every sentence with, "And I don't want to see you anywhere near the lab before the start of your shift."

Sleep was good. Breakfast was good. The commute was good. The barely-increased heap of files on his desk was very good. All in all, a good start to a great day, he thought happily as he ambled down the halls.

And then he glanced to his right, into the break room, and saw Sara sitting before a mess of lab printouts, more than two hours early for her shift.

"Sara?"

She finished reading a sentence before glancing up. "Oh, hey Grissom."

"Is all of that for your new case?"

"Grace Denton. Yeah."

"The evidence could've waited another two hours." Her eyes studiously avoided his and Grissom knew that she had been there even longer. "Sara," he warned.

"We might get swamped again," she said defensively. "If you need me somewhere else tonight, at least I'll still be on top of this."

He chose to leave the conversation at that. Considering how upset she had been at the hospital, Grissom thought that she seemed much more in control.

By the time the others arrived, however, Sara's foresight seemed unnecessary. There were only two new cases to assign, both minor. Nick and Catherine were sent on their way to the fresh crime scenes while the others returned to their old cases.

"Guess it's my lucky day," Sara had grinned, gathering up her papers as the others left.

"Care to share that luck?" Grissom asked, warily eyeing the three files Catherine had left for him.

"It's only three," she teased.

"Yes, well, I recall thinking something like that when I first got this job. And 24 hours later I was convinced that manila folders could breed quicker than rabbits."

Sara laughed. "Stay strong. You'll see the inside of a crime scene again, one of these days." She walked out, hoping to get an early start with Dr. Robbins.

She didn't seem too stressed about the Denton case, Grissom decided. He wanted to believe that she was finally handling her emotions in a healthier manner.

- - - - - - - - -

He was still behind on paperwork. At the moment he was going from the morgue to Greg and was reading on the way. Grissom knew that in five minutes he wouldn't remember any of what he'd read, but considering that it was yet another administrative memo, he also knew that he didn't care.

"Got a minute?"

Grissom turned his attention to Sara but kept walking. "Does it involve signing my name?"

"Nope, just your eyes."

"Then I'm all yours." He shoved the memo into a file with relish. "What do you need?"

"Robbins can't see me for another half hour. I was thinking that between the two of us, we could have all the medical files examined before then."

"What are you hoping to find?"

"A pattern. Some abusers favor a certain area of the body." Sara's voice was grim. "If we can find a similarity between old incidents of abuse and her newest marks, it could help get me and Brass get a warrant for the rest of the house."

"You don't have anything more definitive?"

"Not yet. Tox screen was negative, nothing else really stood out either."

They stepped inside an empty lab where Sara had already spread out the x-rays and records in chronological order.

"I'll take everything for the past two years," Grissom offered. Sara nodded and sat down at her side of the table, absorbed with the papers spread before her.

It didn't take long for the room's atmosphere to grow heavy. With a case like this, examining the medical history was always a bleak task. They made occasional comments but both were mostly busy with writing observations. When she wasn't writing, Sara's fingers were busy tapping nervously. Grissom eyed her a few times but she seemed oblivious.

When they were done, Grissom slid his share of the records to the other side of the table and moved his seat next to Sara's. He could feel her warmth next to him, and he vaguely wondered when they had last worked in such close proximity.

"No real pattern," he concluded. "No question this woman was abused though."

"So many hospital visits," Sara noted sadly. "You think somebody would have gotten through to her eventually."

"That's a good point. Has her doctor been interviewed yet? He might have a reasonable explanation."

"Hospitals aren't the same as private practices. It's possible she never saw the same doctor twice in a row."

Grissom frowned and reached into his share of the records. "Actually, for the past eight months the same physician signed off on her visits."

Sara took the sheet he handed her and studied it closely. He took the opportunity to study her, his eyes slowly moving up and down her face. She looked particularly—

"We have a new suspect," Sara announced, turning to him. She held up the sheet, clearly disturbed. "Dr. Aster. He's been her only doctor for eight months?"

Grissom glanced down at his notes to confirm the name. "Yes. Why?"

"When I spoke to the daughters, they said that their mother was dating someone on the side. Someone named Mr. Aster."

She thanked Grissom for his help as she gathered the papers, clearly eager to inform Brass of her findings. She rushed out the door without another word, leaving Grissom to ponder how much new paperwork was probably waiting for him at his desk.

Once the wondering had him suppressing a shudder, Grissom decided that his team no doubt needed him more than any file and went off in search of someone –anyone– to keep him from his desk.

As luck would have it, Catherine, Warrick and Greg all required his attention. Catherine's lawnmower experiment required a second pair of hands, Warrick was worried about going outside his legal boundaries with a warrant, and Greg had the results of every sample Grissom had sent in. The rest of his day was spent busy with actual work and blissfully ignoring his supervisory duties.

He was discussing the last of the results with Greg when he spotted Brass in the hallway. "Compare that with hairs from the clip," he said, walking to the door, "and find me."

Brass spotted him and held up a folded piece of paper. "Warrick's new warrant, signed, sealed and delivered."

"Quick service."

"I should start demanding tips."

"I'm sure the ethics committee would love that," Grissom smirked, looking over the warrant. He peered over when Brass didn't leave. "I don't have my wallet on me, Brass."

"Actually, I wanted to talk about the Denton case."

"Sara told me you had a new suspect. A doctor."

"Yeah, he's shaping up to be a first-rate jerk. We actually talked to him earlier."

"Anything viable?"

"Probably. I'm still checking out his story. Sara said you checked out the medical records earlier. Anything stick out?"

"Aside from the amount of abuse she went through, just Aster."

"Well, it's not enough for a warrant but we're getting there. I'm gonna go check out Aster's alibis for the weekend. Try to get out of a here at decent time, Gris. The paperwork ain't worth it."

"I've been saying that since I got this job," Grissom retorted. The two exchanged goodnights and went in separate directions.

Grissom walked to the locker room, laughter catching his attention. The entire team was inside, preparing to go home. Grissom felt envious of the relaxed environment as he stepped in.

"You're just in time," Warrick chuckled. "Nick is doing the best impression of Eckley."

Grissom handed him the warrant. "This should keep the smile on your face for awhile."

"Damn, Brass is quick."

"He's expecting gratuity," Grissom said dryly, moving to leave.

"Hey," Nick stopped him, "you done too? Some of us are gonna grab breakfast."

Grissom's eyes moved to Sara before he could think, but snapped back to Nick before she noticed. "No rest for the weary, Nick."

Nick shrugged. "Alright, but next time, Grissom."

"After all," Catherine chimed in, "what are family breakfasts without Papa Bear?" Grissom made his exit then, realizing that despite all its paperwork-related faults his office was at least quiet.

He heard a locker door slam and a moment later Sara jogged up to him, slipping on her jacket. "Is Brass still here?"

"He went to check on Dr. Aster's alibi."

"Oh. Well, I can call him on the radio. We can still meet up there."

Grissom stopped to give Sara a stern look. "Your shift's over. Go home. Or have breakfast with the others."

She observed him with uncertain eyes. Of all the people to be lecturing her work habits...

"On second thought, come to my office." He led the way, not attempting any more conversation. She trailed behind like a scolded child.

Once they were in the office and the door was shut, Grissom seemed less sure of himself. Sara took advantage of his pause to blurt, "I don't see why I can't go with Brass."

"Shift is over, Sara."

"It's _my_ _case_. We work over all the time."

"With evidence," Grissom corrected firmly. "Right now it's nothing but foot work, which means you leave it to Brass."

"Interviews lead to other people or new scenes. It's not like this is news to you—"

"I said _no_."

Sara pursed her lips in frustration. "It's not like I do this with every case, Grissom. This guy was someone she trusted, at—" Her voice caught, and she glanced away. "—at a time when she had no reason to trust anyone. And he used that against her." She looked at him defiantly. "It's our job to find the evidence that will put him away. And if going with Brass speeds things up, then..." She shrugged. Her eyes were searching for something in his. Grissom had no idea what kept him from looking away.

They stood for a full minute, silent, each trying to convey the facts to the other. Suppressing a tired sigh, Grissom sat at his desk and watched Sara look at the floor.

"I'm replacing you with Catherine."

Sara's head shot up. "_What_?"

"You'll get a new case at the beginning of shift. In the meantime, I don't wanna see you in this building."

"I haven't done anything wrong!"

"No, not yet. And frankly, it's not even about the case. It's about you wearing yourself out. Enough is enough. I've worked with you long enough to know that you won't stop yourself." He thought about yesterday at the hospital. How heartbroken she had been.

A dozen arguments were forming in her mind. He could practically see the wheels turning. "My foot is healing. I sleep as much I ever—"

"Stop." She did, but her eyes were shining with anger. It took a moment for Grissom to recognize something else: betrayal. "I agree. Physically, you seem fine."

"Then what?" she demanded.

He took a breath to keep his words calm. Professional. "You cannot get emotionally involved with a case, Sara. This has to stop. Everything has its boundaries; our job is no exception." She was hiding it well but he could see how his words were hurting her. Grissom just had to keep reminding himself that this was best for her. "You're not learning control on your own. It's my responsibility to try a new tactic."

He pulled a file from the pile and gave the contents his full attention. Not looking at her, making it sound like a farewell, he reiterated, "You're off the case."


	16. Easier Said

Sara was handling her reassignment better than Grissom could've hoped. The rest of the team knew by now but they wisely kept comments and knowing looks to themselves, though Grissom caught glances between her and him a few times.  
  
She was in the lab ten minutes before start of shift and at the break room table with others five minutes later. She seemed smiley and relaxed, and Nick eagerly encouraged her attitude with a bout of sibling-reminiscent jokes. She was wearing a pale blue top, and while Grissom always enjoyed the occasional color she added to her wardrobe, it almost seemed like the entire cheery image was too easy.  
  
When he handed her the sheet for a robbery just off the Strip, Sara didn't miss a beat. She listened to his brief description and only asked, "Was there an officer on scene?"

Grissom was grateful for the professional behavior. Sara normally listened to his advice but being pulled from a case was new. And frankly, with Sara he was never entirely sure what to expect.  
  
The rest of the shift played out in a similar fashion. Nick asked her opinion on some carpet fibers. Grissom heard their laughter as he walked down the hall and noted that two hours seemed a little excessive for one sample. Greg managed to take his break at the same time as her and had a cheerier-than-usual grin for the rest of his shift.

As for Grissom, there wasn't much of a chance to ask how she was doing. She gave two updates on her case via cellphone and passed him a handful of times in the halls, engrossed in papers every time and unaware of him going by.

Grissom let himself wonder if she was avoiding him exactly once and then forced the thought aside for the rest of the night.

Catherine knocked on his doorjamb and walked in, closing the door behind her. Grissom watched the action with a blank face, mentally calculating the number of reasons she would want privacy.

"Look, the last thing I wanna do is get in the middle of some personal thing." Grissom's eyebrows bunched in confusion. "So if that's what's going on between you and Sara, just say so."

His reply was a second delayed. "If you mean taking her off the Denton case, the only personal issue was on Sara's part."

"Okay," Catherine shrugged. But her bright blue eyes were eyeing Grissom like a hawk and saying something else entirely.

"You know Sara," he half-smiled, ignoring the urge to squirm under her gaze. "Sometimes she needs to be reined in." The words seemed familiar. It took Grissom a moment to recall a similar conversation with Catherine a few years ago.

_Sara. You know... She gets very emotional._

And that was when things were less complicated, he thought, frustrated. If she was angry, Grissom doubted that a plant would ease her mood much this time. In fact, considering all the tension between them, on-and-off, for a long time now, he wouldn't be very surprised if she ran into his office and flung it at him.

Grissom reflectively winced and Catherine raised a sarcastic eyebrow in question but didn't say anything.

"Are you having a problem with the case? I'm sure Sara could answer any questions you may have."

"It's fine, considering I have my own caseload to worry about. Coming on to a half-processed case is hardly a dream come true."

Sounding tired and sterner than he intended, Grissom said, "If it's more than you can handle—"

She held her arms out in mock-surrender. "Hey, it's no big deal. I'm just saying if you wanted to reconsider Sara's involvement it wouldn't break my heart."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anything else I can do for you?"

"You could tell me what crawled up your ass."

There had to be a great sarcastic reply to that. All Grissom could muster was, "What?"

"You've been a human yo-yo lately. I get that Sara's attack caused some of it, but you've been acting weird for longer."

"Weird."

"Yeah. Well, you know, weirder than usual. You're tired, you're rested; you're irritable, you're cheerful. Up and down, up and down. You want to talk about it?"

Grissom gestured at the files covering his desk. "Just enduring the joys of supervisory servitude."

"Uh-huh. Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. Okay?"

"Sure." He forced a smile. "Thanks."

Grissom didn't stay long after his conversation with Catherine. He couldn't seem to concentrate. He waved goodbye to a distracted Nick on his way out; the others had already left.

Going home didn't go as well as he had hoped. Lately, his habit had been to walk in, toss his keys on the kitchen counter and breathe a sigh of relief. It probably wasn't the healthiest act, but Grissom embraced the chance to ignore his problems. Today, though, everything felt off. The temperature felt a few degrees too cool, the air seemed stale, the furniture looked unimpressive. He was only seeing his home as a group of empty rooms.

- - - - - - - - -

He had gone without sleep before. It may not be as easy as it had once been, but he would be fine. Or so Grissom kept silently insisting as he maneuvered his car into the emptying LVPD parking lot.

Grissom had meant to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere in his townhouse by going straight to bed. But sleep wouldn't come. So instead, he did every task he could imagine to pass the time and hopefully tire himself out. Clean the spotless kitchen and living room, buy groceries, pay bills two weeks early, and prepare an unnecessarily complex meal.

He had considered, and discarded, the idea of playing a classical CD and reclining on his sofa with a book or forensics journal. Just the thought made him uncomfortable.

Inside, he claimed his stack of messages from the front desk and proceeded to the lab, frowning at the asinine questions left by the sheriff's office and two day shift techs.

A ruffling sound caught his attention. He stopped and looked around, finding no source of the noise. He took two more steps before a ball of crumpled paper landed at his feet with a similar sound. Frowning, Grissom walked forward and peered into the break room. Sara was alone, leaning against the conference table and frowning as well, attempting to make what he could only guess was a paper airplane. With a final fold she threw it to one side, only to have it hoop in the air and hit her. Annoyed, she crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside – towards the door and Grissom – without looking and grabbed another sheet from a pile of printer paper.

"If you're going to waste department resources, you should at least make it look like an experiment."

Sara looked up, startled, and offered an uncertain smile that Grissom knew would bother him for the rest of the day. "My specialty is physics. You'd think I could conquer the art of paper airplanes."

He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. "Shift doesn't start for another two hours."

"And I have a perfectly legitimate reason for being here," she said, collecting the paper balls at her feet. "I needed to speak with a pit boss at the Tangiers and he just got back from vacation. This is latest he would be available today."

"Did you get the information you were hoping for?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "It just confirmed everything we already knew. Ruined our suspect's alibi, for one thing." She shuffled the leftover paper into a neat pile. "So now there's nothing left to do but wait for a new assignment."

"You're completely caught up?" He couldn't hide his envy.

"Yep." Sara grinned. "I'd offer to help with the files in your office, but Catherine's already warned us against it."

"Of course," Grissom grumbled. "Wouldn't want to spoil me." She didn't say anything more and tired as he was, Grissom didn't trust himself to start a new topic. "I'll be in my office. Next case is yours."

"Thanks." She held up her cellphone. "Call me if you get anything soon. I might as well grab something to eat before shift."

After 20 minutes Grissom was ready to call Sara merely for the distraction. She seemed to be in a good mood, and if there was something Grissom needed desperately at the moment, it was cheer. He glanced upward and silently wished for a busy night. Anything to distract him from paperwork.

Thinking that some of the others might also be coming in early, he left his office in search of them, figuring that "unexpectedly" running into them and discussing any updates in their cases could easily burn half an hour.

He tried the break room, the labs, and the evidence locker. Nothing. His last hope was the locker room and considering the silence coming from the open door Grissom knew his chances were slim. But he poked his head in hopefully nonetheless, and was rewarded with the sight of Sara hanging her jacket in her locker.

"You're back."

She smiled brightly at his appearance. "Hey! Yeah, the diner was packed. Figured I could just eat here."

"And wait for a case?" he asked knowingly. There was a slight teasing tone he hadn't intended, but it worked well. Sara's smile softened and she took a step closer.

"Guilty," she admitted. "But until then I'm just a girl eating cheap diner take-out before work." She held up a bag. "I, uh, grabbed something for you too. I was just gonna leave it on your desk, but if you want..."

Grissom surprised himself by debating the idea and abruptly stopped when he realized that quality time with Sara should never be compared to the loathsome paperwork on his desk.

"Sure. I have a few minutes."

Sara barely hid her surprise. "Great. Lead the way." She was barely out the door before she started discussing a conference she was hoping to attend in a few months. Grissom realized that a pattern was developing. Whenever they were alone and expected to talk, Sara immediately went to safe topics. Cases, studies, conferences. Work, in some way. He wondered if that was for her benefit or his. Both, maybe.

Still, as she continued to chat about the guest lecturers slated for the event, sincerely enthusiastic and unaware of his thoughts, Grissom grew uncomfortable.

"Actually," he interrupted her, stopping a few feet from the break room, "I think I'll go back to my office."

"Sure," she replied immediately. She was expecting this, Grissom thought, mentally sighing. She pulled a Styrofoam container from the bag and handed it to him. "I wasn't sure if you actually wanted breakfast, considering it's night." A practiced grin. "So I went with a sandwich."

"Thanks, Sara." He hesitated. "Really, it was very thoughtful."

_That_ she hadn't expected, clearly. "Just don't forget to eat it. No offense, but you look like you could use the energy."

Adept as her at covering discomfort with humor, he tried to think of a joking response but she didn't seem interested. In fact, she seemed to consider the topic ended because she was already walking into the break room.

His sigh wasn't suppressed this time. Food in hand he went back to his office and quickly decided that paperwork could wait until he had eaten. Grissom flipped open the container to find turkey on wheat bread, mustard, no mayo. Exactly the way he preferred it. Any other man would smile at the gesture. Grissom found himself nodding, as if she had gotten a homework problem correct.

"Well, well, what've we got here?"

Grissom peered through his glasses to his door, half-open, and the voice beyond. A man that he didn't recognize stood beyond the door's view.

"What are you doing back here, unescorted?" That was Sara, chilly and clearly trying to control her temper.

Meal forgotten, Grissom walked to the door and looked out. At the middle of the hallway leading to the receptionist's desk was a handsome middle-aged man. The confident grin he was offering Sara was nearly a sneer, and behind his snobby tone was something a little more threatening.

"Your cop friend's around here somewhere. I'm just waiting for my lawyer."

"You'll have to wait in the chairs up front." Her shoulders were stiff. He couldn't see from this angle, but Grissom knew her well enough to guess that Sara was sticking her chin out in defiance.

"Easy there, girl. I'm here to help. I loved Grace. I'll do whatever I can to help."

"The chairs. Up front." Grace Denton, Grissom realized. The murder case. He began to walk towards them.

"That's right, you're not working on Grace's case anymore, are you?" Grissom silently cursed whatever officer let that slip. "What's the matter, girlie? Was I too much for you?"

"...Don't make me call security." Aster's eyes moved from Sara to Grissom as he approached.

"But I haven't done anything wrong," Aster rebuked. "I'm just a grieving boyfriend trying to help the police find whatever monster did this." Sara remained silent as he retreated to the seating area.

Grissom waited until Aster was out of sight before facing Sara. Her eyes met his and a dozen conflicting emotions shone through.

"You okay?" he asked in a low, sympathetic voice.

She nodded, unsure of her voice. Grissom more than understood. He wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her back down the hall, feeling the tense muscles beneath her shirt and wisely staying silent.

Once she was seated at the break room table where her food had been spread out, she immediately smiled and reassured him that she was fine. She turned her attention to her salad before he could say anything more.

Grissom went to his office and after considering the sandwich on his desk for a long moment, he picked up the box and walked back to the break room to eat with Sara.

She seemed unaware of him standing in the doorway. She was staring at her food, eyes unfocused, an angry frown tugging at her lips. She could have spoken her mind to Dr. Aster. Hell, she could've lunged at him. Grissom didn't put it past her. But instead she had remained calm and let him think that he had won.

_Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing._

"Let's make a deal." She looked up at him, then the sandwich, in surprise. He smiled conspiratorially. "I won't tell anyone that you're here before shift if you don't tell anyone that I came in early and ignored my paperwork."

Grissom sat down across from her and took out his sandwich, and asked her about the planned lectures for the conference she was so eager to attend.


	17. Consistency's Overrated

"Generally, people eat when they're hungry."

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me two... more... minutes."

"I never thought I'd meet a worse perfectionist than myself," he teased. "Honey, it's time for a break. Get down from there."

She looked down at him from the stepladder, trying to glare and failing miserably. "If I don't finish this wall it'll drive me crazy. I won't be able to enjoy lunch."

"And after I spent all those hours bent over a hot stove," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Come _down_."

"You should be grateful for my enthusiasm," she argued, buying time to continue working. "Not many girlfriends would sacrifice their day off to inhale fumes and get blisters on their palms."

"That's why you're the one I'm dating," he grinned wickedly, stepping closer and reaching up to place his hands at her waist. "I figured you'd be good for some slave labor."

She turned to him but kept calm. A little too calm. He narrowed his eyes and dared to ask, "What?"

Something came from the corner of his vision and before he could react, she had stroked his nose with her paintbrush.

"There," she smiled brightly. "I got the last spot. We can eat now."

He offered a hand for balance as she stepped off the ladder. "Just for that, I'm eating your fortune cookie."

"No sense of humor," she chided, leading the way into the kitchen. Her eyes sparkled as she handed him what he suspected was the last clean hand towel in his townhouse. "Clean up and I'll dish out our food."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's safe." She playfully swatted him before reaching for the take-out cartons.

By now she knew from experience where he kept his dishes and silverware, and when he returned their food was neatly served on the kitchen table. He grinned at the sight of two fortune cookies on a saucer next to his sweet and sour pork.

They laughed and talked, very little about work, and neither ate much because they were too distracted.

"I'm glad you decided to renovate this place."

"It seemed time for a change."

"The good news is we have plenty of paint left over, so if you decide to paint another room you'll have a good start." Her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Speaking of which..." She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out his house key. "I think I'm done making runs to Home Depot today."

"You should hang on to it."

Her paint-speckled eyebrows bunched in confusion. "You won't need anymore supplies today, trust me."

"I do trust you." A small smile played on his lips. "That's the point."

"You're giving me a key to your place?" she asked happily, staring at the metal in her hand. She looked up slyly. "I guess this is a fair enough trade for my day off."

He leaned across the table and kissed her. Their kisses quickly deepened.

"Mmm..." She moaned softly. She pulled away, her eyes trained on his. "We'll have to celebrate later. One of us has two meetings before work."

He stole another kiss before sighing. Suddenly the entire day seemed wasted.

She began to laugh uncontrollably. "This is the closest I've ever seen to you pouting." It was her turn to quickly kiss him. "I know," she smiled gently. "I wish we had more time, too. It's never enough."

Grissom's eyes opened before he could stop himself. The ceiling of his empty bedroom greeted him.

He got up reluctantly, wishing he hadn't woken at all. The heaviness in his eyes told him that once again he hadn't slept long enough.

After finding a bottle of water in the refrigerator he turned to study his living room. It didn't make sense. Things were going well at work. Why was he still dreaming about her?

Grissom knew the answer, of course. He glanced sideways to his table. He could almost hear Sara, her voice full of love.

_It's never enough_.

- - - - - - - - -

"I miss lazy criminals," Sara sighed.

Grissom glanced over, confused. "Care to elaborate?"

She gestured at the empty road stretching before them. "People make the same mistakes either way. But the determined ones always go above and beyond the call of criminal duty." He allowed a small grin at the term. "I mean, who drives 30 miles to dump evidence but doesn't stay to ensure that it burns up completely?"

Grissom returned his attention to driving and Sara leaned her head back and stared out the window. At night there was little traffic this far out. She watched the trees and telephone poles streaking past and let her eyes slide shut.

He looked at her a few times as they continued down the road. Her peaceful demeanor made him envious, slowly followed by a different kind of unhappiness as he acknowledged that she probably wasn't busy with the sort of dreams he'd been experiencing on and off. Grissom sighed, his shoulders sagging a little.

And then there was a sharp bang and he lost control of the vehicle.

Sara jolted awake, grabbing the dashboard to steady herself. Cursing under his breath, he turned into the spin before they crashed and managed to get the car to the side of the road. He yanked the key out of the ignition before it tried to veer anymore.

She looked around with panicked, uncertain eyes. "What just happened?"

"I think we blew a tire." He got out with further explanation. Sara had the familiar wish that he was just a little more socially apt. When someone wakes up to a near-death experience, reassurance would be nice.

She got out too and walked around to his side of the car, rubbing her arms as the cold nighttime air hit her. He glanced up long enough to see her shiver before examining the limp tire. "Your jacket's in the back."

"Do we have a spare?"

"We better." He stepped around her and opened the back hatch. Pulling up the carpet he pushed a finger into the spare hidden underneath. Even if the dent left by his touch didn't answer her question, his grimace of controlled exasperation did.

"Someone on day shift must have gotten a flat and forgot to replace the temporary."

"No wonder it popped," Sara said. "A temporary tire isn't made for the kind of terrain we've covered tonight."

Grissom gave the tire one last glare before closing the hatch. "Sometimes I wonder if you and I are the only ones with a decent IQ at that lab." Sara smirked good-heartedly.

"We're probably ten miles from the nearest gas station or pay phone."

"I have the number of the towing company the lab uses on my cellphone." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "Why don't you call Catherine and tell her that we'll be late. She's in charge until we get back."

"Sure." Sara gratefully got back into the Tahoe before dialing Catherine.

By the time she and Catherine hung up, Grissom was back in the driver's seat, giving Nick directions over the phone regarding a new case. Sara waited for him to wrap up and then asked, "How long do you think the tow truck will be?"

"At least an hour."

"But it's only a half-hour drive!"

Grissom shrugged. "The joy of bureaucracy – the lowest bid wins out. We should be grateful that they're not busy with any wrecks elsewhere. We could be here 'til dawn."

"Well, the good news is the evidence will be fine." She peeked into the back seat at the box of bagged objects. "We'd have a problem if any of this needed to be refrigerated."

"Nothing to do but wait."

Sara's eyes wandered back out the window to the scenery.

"You can sleep if you're tired," he suggested. "Might as well take advantage of the chance."

"Nah. If Nick or Greg found out that I was napping during office hours I'd never hear the end of it."

"Good point."

She shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the road and skyline.

"Antsy?"

"It figures that we'd be stuck out here with nothing but char-broiled evidence. Nothing to fingerprint, nothing to touch outside the lab."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. She caught the look. "What?"

"Nothing. Just trying to imagine you bored during vacation."

"Hey, I can sit still," she defended.

"Sleeping doesn't count, Sara."

She was pursing her lips in amusement. He wondered if half the time she wasn't just fighting the urge to stick her tongue out. She kept quiet for only a moment before asking, "So what do you think the accelerant was?"

"Gasoline, probably. Nothing too fancy." He liked this. The others always tried to chat. Emphasis on _tried_. Alone time with him seemed to freak them out a little. They never knew what to say. With Sara, though, cases were normal chitchat. And work always led to interesting conversations, about old experiments, new studies, cases from other districts.

"You have that analytical look," she recognized. "Considering that we're the only people for a 20-mile radius, it's only fair that you share."

"Nothing useful," he admitted. Uncertainty started to sink in as he realized that he had no idea what to talk to her about, but the ringing of his phone saved him. Grissom silently thanked his supervisory duties before answering.

Sara was quiet while he spoke with Hodges about some odd results. She seemed lost in thought, which, he supposed, explained why she wasn't turning on the radio or making phone calls of her own. After he hung up she was still silent, until she suddenly said with longing, "_Pancakes_."

"Where?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Very funny." She turned in her seat so that they could comfortably make eye contact. "I was just thinking that pancakes sound amazing right now."

"We can stop somewhere on the way back, if you like."

Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "We're already an hour behind with this evidence. You're willing to wait longer?"

"You're not of much use to me if you pass out from low blood-sugar."

"It's my own fault. All I had before work was a cup of coffee."

He frowned his disapproval. "That was five hours ago."

"I thought there would be time to grab something by now." She didn't really seem that upset and Grissom wasn't surprised. They were all accustomed to missing meals.

He reached past her and opened the glove compartment. It took longer than he expected, rifling around, and Sara kept eyeing him strangely, but he finally found the candy bar he had stuck in there the day before. He handed it to her wordlessly and a sweet smile spread unconsciously on her lips.

"Grissom sacrificing his junk food stash. This is new."

"Whatever it takes to keep you in top shape," he said simply.

She shrugged off her own appreciation but smiled again. "Thanks." She eagerly tore open the candy and began eating.

"If my calls were any sign, the others have had a pretty mundane shift. I'm sure you can wrangle them into eating afterwards."

"That would be best," she allowed. "I want to get to work on this evidence as soon as possible." She chewed thoughtfully before venturing to add, "You should come. To breakfast."

"This extra time away means my desk has probably been swallowed up in paperwork."

"Then another hour won't matter much," she countered. "It's not the same unless you're there too, you know."

He studied her for a moment. "Okay."

"Great. Catherine won't believe that I talked you into it." She concentrated on her candy bar once again, leaving Grissom with nothing to do. He glanced back to check on the evidence once again. Her jacket lay to one side and he grabbed it without thinking.

"Here."

She looked at it questioningly. "You were cold before," he explained. "It's just in case." She awarded him with another appreciative glance and stopped eating long enough to slip it on, even though he knew that with the car running and the heat on she was probably fine.

Realizing that there wasn't really anything else to do, Grissom was ready to turn on the radio to fill the silence. But Sara, finishing the candy bar, commented casually, "I heard that Circus Circus opened a new roller coaster."

He watched her, surprised that she would care about something like that and more surprised that she was starting a personal topic. "At the Adventuredome. It's called the Canyon Blaster."

"Have you been on it?"

"Not yet. It doesn't sound that impressive, frankly."

"You've been on too many," she teased. "You're spoiled."

"Probably," he admitted. "Still, the rides here are nothing compared to what you can find in California."

"I haven't been on that many. I guess when you live on the West Coast you don't take advantage of things like a tourist would."

"You're missing out," Grissom scolded. He began to describe the classic roller coasters along the ocean and the newer high-tech ones that a physics buff like Sara would really appreciate.

When the flashing lights of the tow truck appeared, Grissom was surprised that so much time had passed. A glance at the Tahoe's digital clock told him that they had been talking for nearly two hours. At this point they were several topics past roller coasters, comparing their college experiences.

"We'll barely have time to get all of this evidence logged," Sara groaned. Grissom wondered if she was unaware of how unique the past hours had been, or if she was just hiding her satisfaction. And if so, for who's benefit?


End file.
